


When I See You Behind the Glass, I Forget That I’m in the Cage

by Commodore_Enigma



Series: We've Been Lonely Too Long [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Angst, Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Gavin Being Protective, Gavin Reed Whump, Getting Together, Horse Racing, Horses, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of hunting, Non-Graphic Violence, Pining, Protective Allen, Rivals to Friends to Lovers, Sharing a Bed, Sharing an Even SMALLER Bed, Slow Burn, Use of Hats to Hide Facial Expressions, Writing Love Letters, brief mention of dissociation, meet ugly, mentioned Internalized Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 45,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22286380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Commodore_Enigma/pseuds/Commodore_Enigma
Summary: For bounty hunter Kenton Allen, the prospect of reward money and the unpredictable thrills of tracking and confronting outlaws lured him in and never let him go. Several years into bounty hunting across the United States, he rode to northern Colorado and right into the path of Sheriff’s Deputy Gavin Reed.The first time Kent ever met Deputy Reed, he quickly decided that he’d rather not see the lawman again, much less interact with him further. Naturally, fate decided otherwise, and Kent found himself pursuing the same targets as Reed. As they continued to interact and still had trivial arguments, their begrudging cooperation evolved into an unusual friendship. Despite the looming threats of death and the dangers involved with every outlaw tracked down and confronted, the duo grew even closer.
Relationships: Captain Allen/Gavin Reed
Series: We've Been Lonely Too Long [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1604197
Comments: 16
Kudos: 58





	1. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> Credit goes to my mom for beta reading this for me and helping with the summary, as well as being so supportive of my writing hobby and this little story.  
> Credit also goes to Autumn_Ashes for his continued support and enthusiasm for this little rare pair AU of mine ever since its tentative beginnings.  
> All the outlaw names used were made by me through throwing together name randomizations. Any relation to real people, dead or alive, is purely coincidental.  
> The work title is taken from the lyrics of “Red” by Daniel Lanois.  
> For a visual of Allen and Gavin's appearances, here is the url to a wonderfully done art commission I got for this AU:  
> https://twitter.com/SvetozarNien/status/1209260736406523904?s=20

Kent hoisted the outlaw’s corpse over his shoulder and slowly walked over to his horse. The blood from the gunshot to Anthony Olsen’s head had undoubtedly begun to soak into his coat, a grim reminder that he couldn’t have brought in the outlaw alive like he’d hoped. As much as he’d have liked to provide lawmen with a new source of information on criminal activity, outlaws rarely ever wanted to play nice when a bounty hunter confronted them. And this time, it had garnered fatal results.

The thunder of approaching hooves caught his attention. Kent drew his gun with his free hand and turned to face the stranger.

He saw the flash of the badge of a sheriff’s deputy as the horseman cantered up, and he quickly holstered it again.

“Fuck!” the deputy cursed as he slowed his horse, dismounted and ran up towards him. Kent gave him a puzzled look and lifted the corpse onto his horse’s back. He occupied himself with the process of securing the body to his saddle.

He’d done the deputy a favor, detaining the outlaw for him. Even if it meant Anthony Olsen didn’t have a pulse anymore, it was better than Kent being the one shot in the face while Olsen ran free again, wasn’t it? The repeat home invader had built himself a nasty reputation for being on the dodge.

The lawman apparently disapproved. “Great job, asshole!” he snarled, “What about the leads I coulda gotten from him, huh? More outlaws runnin’ around disturbing the peace, is that what you want?!”

As Kent already knew all too well, some lawmen could be abrasive, but this man already exceeded Kent’s previous standards of just _how_ abrasive they could be. They must have been seriously desperate for lawmen if he was deputized.

Kent casually replied as he tied off a rope, “yes… I just asked a fucking _murderer_ if he’d walk to the nearest sheriff’s office and turn himself in…” blatant sarcasm gone, he scathingly added with a scowl, “that’s not how bounties work, lawman. He led me on a chase, instigated a shootout, and one of us had to drop dead. It was going to be either me or him.”

The deputy glowered back at him. “Since your hands are full with that _corpse_ ,” he spat the word with pure disgust, “I suggest you get the hell outta my sight so I can get to work.”

Kent couldn’t stand the deputy and he’d known him for all of half a minute. As much as he hated the idea of backing away in the eyes of such a colossal asshole, he was a lawman and wanted to investigate the scene, and Kent was enough of a professional to respect that. Done securing Olsen’s body, he turned back to his horse and swiftly mounted and rode away, towards the new town he’d be based in for some time.

Immensely irritated by their brief interaction, he hoped that he wouldn’t have to see that deputy again. But he had a sinking feeling that’d be impossible.

The small civilization known as Fort Collins did, in fact, qualify as a town. There were a decent number of blocks of buildings, and well over a thousand residents occupied the homes along the various streets and surrounding ranches.

The hotel room he had wasn’t the worst he’d encountered in his travels, and he settled into the town the same old way. It was just another place to stay as he worked on bounties in the surrounding area. Nothing more, nothing less. The townspeople were largely decent enough, and most harbored the usual superficial politeness he’d experienced through the years.

Though the lawmen observed him wearily and interacted with him brusquely as they tended to, they seemed to have no true grievances with Kent’s presence as he studied and pursued the various bounties available. After all, it lifted a weight of responsibility from their shoulders. All of them, except one.

He learned from one of the other, more friendly deputies, Chris Miller, that he had to have met Deputy Gavin Reed that first day.

Miller, in a conversation with Kent his second morning there, needed only a basic description of the deputy’s actions before he identified him. As he had explained to Kent in his own words, “he’s the only person I know that can manage getting that angry at someone doing their job. Sorry he was your first impression of us… he can be a handful, but I swear he’s tolerable if you get him to respect you at some level.”

There was so much land, but even then, his path still managed to cross with Reed’s on a regular basis. Fate was a bitch sometimes. As much as he disliked it, it was understandable that he’d see Reed around the sheriff’s office. But it was just plain annoying the rest of the time, with those angry murky gray eyes fixed on him while he tried to do his job or just mind his business. Whenever they were near each other, Kent dared the lawman to try and cross him with a steady glare back. Neither of them liked to relent first, but eventually one of them would abruptly turn away and move on, their stare down effectively ended until the next time.

It took Kent a little over a week to finally confront Reed on his attitude. A little over a week too long.

He brought a bounty to the sheriff’s office, alive. A gentleman by the name of Mack Abrams, some four-flusher who’d taken money from several wealthy people with his false remedies for pneumonia. Whilst the reward money wasn’t as much compared to the rarer, more challenging and thrilling bandits and murderers, it was better than nothing. Even if the man had led him on an extensive foot chase through alleys and backyards that forced him to dismount his horse and run and jump more intensely than he had in some time.

Kent was still catching his breath as he dragged the obstinate, handcuffed man back to the sheriff’s department, embittered by the fact his endurance was worse than he’d previously thought. Abrams’ repetitive excuses hadn’t helped his already-thinned patience.

“Aw c’mon mister, they had plenty of money. They ain’t missin’ it.”

Kent desperately wanted to clench his jaw to hold off his rising blood pressure for just a while longer, but he refused to let his expression change. He had no interest in egging the man’s behavior on.

Abrams continued anyway. In an obnoxiously high tone, he whined, “I didn’t do nothin’ wrong! My tonics are well-researched!” When Kent didn’t respond to that, he persisted with, “I think you broke my rib you cocksucker, you tackled me way too hard-”

The excuses finally got to him, and Kent let his temper go. “I don’t give a shit that they were rich! You’re a liar, and if you hadn’t run like a fucking coward when I clearly asked you to stop, I wouldn’t have tackled you,” he snapped. He shoved Abrams forward and quickened their steps to the sheriff’s department. Another block, and he’d be free of such unpleasant company. He could call it a day, take a bath, act like the foot chase hadn’t flared up aches in his knees and joints from overexertion. A rude and unwelcome reminder that he was getting older.

With Abrams thrown in a cell, Sheriff Fowler handed him over the $30 with a gruff nod of acknowledgement. Kent left the building and sighed in relief as he walked down the steps. He mounted his horse for the ride back to the hotel.

As he walked up to the front of the hotel after Mara was stabled for the night, he felt his body begin to relax. He could finally sleep, and in the morning look into a bounty that wasn’t some fraudulent, obnoxious coward.

The front door of the hotel opened, and a man stormed out. Kent realized too late that it was Deputy Reed of all people, and the man walked by him with his usual scowl. He veered from a respectful distance to abruptly crash his shoulder into Kent’s. He continued his stomps down the front steps.

His scattered remains of patience evaporated in an instant, and with a growl Kent whipped around and leapt down the front steps. He grabbed Reed’s shoulder as the man shouted, “HEY!” and turned him around. Kent’s hands flew to the collar of his shirt as he shoved Reed against the wall of the next building over. Reed’s breath was knocked out of him as Kent pinned him in with his forearm.

Reed’s eyes were alight with rage as Kent shouted, nearly in his face, “what the hell’s your problem with me, huh?! Stop being a goddamn asshole and face me like a man if you’ve got an issue with me doing my damn job.”

“I’ll fucking destroy you the second I can,” Reed spat back. He tried to push Kent away, but Kent held his ground.

“The fuck’s your problem, deputy? Tell me that, and I’ll let you go.” Kent interrogated.

“We were doing just fine without you,” Reed coldly declared, “we don’t need some asshole outsider coming here, especially when it’s a flimsy excuse for a bounty hunter that brings in corpses instead of leads. So why don’t you just go back to whatever hellhole you came from and leave the work to the rest of us?”

Kent stepped away quickly and hovered his hand above his holster. He had no reason to trust that Reed wouldn’t try to shoot him. He really didn’t want to get into a duel with a lawman of all people, but dear God, with the way the man was, he felt he might just have to.

To his relief, Reed only stormed away and avoided running into Kent again. He snapped a quick “you better stay the fuck outta my way,” before he cursed under his breath. Kent’s nerves were frayed from both Reed’s treatment towards him and the long, frustrating day. As much as he wanted to ride out the fuel of rage he had and keep shouting at Reed’s godawful assumptions of him, he knew that’d get him nowhere, maybe escalate into a full-on brawl. He doubted any lawmen, even if Reed’s own colleagues weren’t fond of him, would like that, and he valued his career far too much to lose it over one exceedingly rude person.

He let the deputy thunder away, too disgusted with the long day to stand there and stare at his existence for one more moment. He made his way into the hotel as tension overtook him.

The confrontation didn’t lead to anything worse, thankfully. In the following days, Fowler and the deputies didn’t mention anything of it to Kent or treat him any different whenever his paths crossed with theirs. He and Reed interacted less, and Kent was grateful for that. When they did, glaring still ensued, but they only held stares for a brief couple moments before they moved on.

Perhaps that was a result of the confrontation. Or maybe it was because Kent brought in a couple more criminals alive, including the murderer Lynette Waters who allegedly obtained her weapons from a regional gang. He had proved the asshole wrong, at least to some degree, and additionally let Reed get distracted by whatever could be investigated from Waters.

Whatever the cause, Kent was able to bury himself into his work and travels once more with less distraction and disturbance, and he relished in it.


	2. Sutherland

Kent rode alongside the twisted river northwest of town, headed into the mountains to see if he could catch the trail of Jules Sutherland, a no-name, small-time bank robber from the Wyoming Territory allegedly seen camping in the forested foothills. As he continued his way up, the sky began to be obscured by the surrounding rocks and slopes.

At a curve in the road at the base of a particularly steep slope, two horsemen appeared from the other side, bandanas obscuring their faces. They blocked his way and stopped his mare in her tracks.

His senses were immediately on alert. Kent made to draw his pistol, but the men drew theirs faster, and Kent froze.

“Don’t you move,” one barked. He dismounted his horse and began to step closer, his gun pointed at Kent’s head.

Kent sighed and slowly raised his hands in the air. This was a moment where he nearly missed working in tandem with other bounty hunters. It had been nice to have backup, especially in unfamiliar territory.

He could hear a third horseman somewhere behind him. Kent had his doubts over whether they’d leave him alive after they robbed him of his belongings. They’d likely be disappointed to find he only carried so much cash on his person, the rest stored away in a safe at the hotel as well as a vault back in Detroit.

As he began to contemplate how to outmaneuver three men pointing guns at his head, the outlaw drew closer and grabbed Mara’s reins. “Dismount. Now,” he ordered.

Kent began to dismount, deciding that complying with the bushwhackers for the moment was his best bet for survival. He and the bandit paused when they heard the loudened sound of hooves. A blur of black raced down the hill to his right, and a shot rang out. The bandit behind him fell dead.

Mara, startled by the sudden sequence of events, spooked forward and barreled over the bandit holding the reins. Kent toppled off her and crashed onto his side to the gravel below. He stood back up, raggedly caught his breath, and drew his gun. He shot the thief in the heart as he began to take aim at Kent.

Several more shots were fired, and Kent saw the unexpected horseman race away as he shot at the final bandit and shouted incoherently. Red splotches grew on the bandit’s worn coat as he slumped over on his horse. The startled animal bolted off the road and crossed the river. Kent’s path was cleared again.

As Kent mentally caught up on what the hell just happened, he crouched and inspected the bandits’ corpses. He removed their bandanas and tried to identify them from any of the bounties and criminal profiles he had seen for the area. Nothing about them rang a bell.

He was alerted to the mysterious horseman’s reappearance by a horse halting abruptly behind him, snorting sharply. A rough, familiar voice groused, “calm down, Satan! It’s over, the hell are you spooking at?!”

He stood up as he realized the voice was familiar. He turned around, and sure enough, Deputy Reed was sat on the back of a sleek, black horse.

He raised an eyebrow at Reed, who finally acknowledged him as he walked the flighty creature in tight circles. He lectured Kent irritably, “watch where you ride, old man.”

“I was going to get them. What’re you doing out here, anyway?”

“Looking for these assholes. Once again, no leads from them. No thanks to _you_ ,” he griped.

“You could’ve waited until they were done with me,” Kent speculated aloud. He walked back over to Mara and hopped on her back, wincing slightly at the raw sensitivity of his side. He’d likely have bruises for a while, but he’d live. It was far from the worst thing he’d experienced.

“What’s done is done, smartass,” Reed responded, tone and expression uncharacteristically neutral as he continued circling his horse, “besides, I won’t be around to start shootouts next time.”

_Strange man_ , Kent thought to himself. He looked at the corpses.

As much as he hated it, Kent felt like he owed something to the deputy. Like him or not, the man had probably saved his life, or at least prevented his loss of any immediate possessions.

Deputy Reed dismounted his horse and knelt next to one of the bandits.

Kent steeled himself, and tried to ignore the unease that took him over when he asked: “You got that?”

The deputy turned and stared at him, “pretty sure I do, bounty hunter.”

“Really… that’s a lot of corpses to put on one horse,” Kent observed.

Reed pointed behind him, and Kent followed his finger. One of the bandits’ horses grazed idly next to the road. “How in tunk are you still alive if you don’t look at your surroundings?”

Right. The bandits’ horses. Kent had made a damned fool of himself. “Go boil your shirt,” he snapped at Reed. He raced his horse past the deputy, towards the abandoned camp, too set in getting the hell out of there to think up a better insult.

Despite his failed and very begrudged attempt to help the deputy, Kent still felt like he owed Reed something as the day winded down. He wasn’t sure how to even make up for it without Reed knowing he was going to do so. There was no way in hell he could give the man satisfaction over that.

That thought returned to him in quieter moments as he set out to find Jules Sutherland once and for all, having finally tracked down his specific whereabouts after three days of finding a trail, losing it, and questioning ranchers following his journey to the abandoned camp.

The ride out to the abandoned quarry was largely quiet, and the road into the hills was hushed. Until he heard a galloping horse getting closer and the sound of their presence began to overtake the rhythmic sound of Mara’s trot.

He had his pistol out as he turned back to look, only to find that the sleek black horse and its rider were back again.

Sure enough, it was Deputy Reed. And he was gaining on him.

Kent began to gallop his horse, too. Reed was clearly out here for something, and he had a feeling it was Sutherland. He’d clashed with bounty hunters before over targets and receiving the full reward, and he’d gladly do it again with this horrible excuse of a lawman. Sutherland had been a pain in the ass for him to track down, and he wasn’t about to give up the chance to finally take the bastard in.

Mara held the lead, but soon enough the racehorse caught up, and Deputy Reed shot him a smug look as he and his horse took off ahead of them.

“Asshole,” Kent cursed through gritted teeth.

He kicked Mara forward, but it was useless. Reed’s horse full on sprinted, and despite Mara’s best efforts, they were stuck a few horse lengths behind Reed.

A large bird, likely a vulture, took off from carrion by the side of the road, and Reed’s horse spooked and veered off the road as Reed struggled to regain control. Mara stayed composed and watched the incident unfold. As they sped past Reed, Kent saw the deputy rein his horse in circles, the animal threatening to rear as he cantered.

He slowed Mara to a canter and continued onwards, towards the quarry.

Kent treaded lightly through the grass and bushes near the base of the quarry, his repeater held with a practiced familiarity as the column of smoke drew closer.

A figure with broad shoulders and light blonde hair sat by the fire, his back to Kent. He couldn’t immediately confirm that it was Sutherland, but it likely was based off his appearance on the bounty poster.

Good. Reed hadn’t snatched him yet.

He steeled himself for the confrontation and rose out of the tall grass, pointing his rifle at the man and shouting in his well-used authoritative tone, “put your hands up and step away from the fire!”

The man’s head stayed pointed towards the fire.

Kent repeated, angrier, “hands up and step away from the fire! I won’t warn you again.”

“Fuck off, lawman,” Sutherland retorted. He began to move his arm.

Kent dove into the grass as a bullet flew through where his chest had just been. He moved rapidly through the grass and took cover behind a tree, listening closely to Sutherland’s moves.

There was quiet, and then hard footsteps approached. “Come on, asshole!” Sutherland jeered, “face me like a man!” He began to move to the right, and Kent readied himself.

He moved out of cover, fired at Sutherland’s shoulder, and ducked into the grass as Sutherland hollered in pain.

Kent sprinted through the grass and tackled Sutherland from the side as the man staggered and held his shoulder, his gun dropped to the ground.

They both fell roughly onto the gravel as Kent pinned him and attempted to detain the man. Before he could roll Sutherland onto his stomach, he was struck across the face by the bank robber, and with his balance uneven Sutherland shoved him off. Even with only one arm working, he still managed plenty of force, and Kent rolled away. He swiftly got back to his feet.

He drew his gun and pointed it at Sutherland. “Don’t you fucking move.”

Sutherland began to lunge at him, drawing a hunting knife.

Kent fired, and struck his torso. Right before Sutherland barreled him over, Kent threw his gun as far as he could, to prevent Sutherland from getting ahold of it.

He grabbed Sutherland’s bloodied collar and tried to push the outlaw away from him as much as possible while his legs were pinned. Sutherland’s eyes were alit with rage as he pressed down against Kent’s hands. The knife hovered over his chest as Kent felt the roughness of the gravel press into his back.

Another gunshot rang out, and Sutherland, after an expression of shock, collapsed over Kent.

Sutherland was still alive, but bled profusely from the three wounds, and he began to cough up blood onto Kent’s arm. He shoved Sutherland off and scrambled away .

There was a blur of chestnut as Reed sprinted past him. He roughly grappled Sutherland’s shirt and shook him furiously. “Where the fuck is your stash?!” he roared.

Sutherland struggled to regain his breath, before he spat back, “the fuck are you talkin’ about?”

“The money. Where the fuck is it?!” Reed pressed a hand into the gunshot wound on his shoulder, and he cried out in pain.

“The… the… graveyard…” his eyes rolled to the side, and he stared off towards nothing.

Reed dropped him and hissed “fuck” in that peculiar way of his. He turned to Kent and questioned sardonically, “are you trying to kill every single bounty you find?”

“I try to bring them in alive, deputy. That’s never guaranteed. Besides, you shot him too,” Kent countered.

“Not twice.”

“He was being stubborn as hell and unpredictable. And you got a hint from him at least. Don’t complain so much.”

“Maybe I won’t if you stop sneaking in and surprising them. No shit they’re so unpredictable.”

Oh, so he’d had an audience. How helpful it was for him to show up at the last possible moment. “You think you can do it better?” Kent challenged, “I’ve been at this for seven years. Every outlaw is different, but I know damn well what approaches work best.”

Reed scowled at him and crossed his arms. “Okay, smartass. How about I take the corpse back and tell Fowler why there’s a dead end with the lost money?”

Kent scoffed as he walked over to where his gun had landed. “Hell no. I spent three days tracking this piece of shit down, and I got here first.”

“Yeah, and you almost died doing so. Step up your game, old man.”

As much as he hated it, there was a truth to his words. Whatever Sutherland had in store for him in the moments that led up to Reed shooting him, it wasn’t going to be good. But he held his ground. “I’ve seen you control that horse of yours, deputy. Sutherland’s corpse is going to get launched when that beast spooks at something, and how is anyone going to know it’s Jules Sutherland if it’s mutilated beyond recognition?”

“Oh fuck off,” Reed spat, “fine, you carry the corpse, and I take the reward money. I finished him off.”

“No. I tracked him, I started this whole damn thing, I got here before you. _I_ get the reward money.” Kent obstinately replied.

“This is what I get for… for shooting that asshole? Really? You greedy bastard!”

Kent sighed, exasperated at the deputy’s shared stubbornness. “Fine,” he snapped, “I get 75, you get 25.”

“Oh no you don’t.”

“Oh yes, I do.”

“You’re not the only one who tracks down things, _bounty hunter_. Outlaws don’t just appear in front of me and turn themselves in.”

Kent considered that as he looked for any scratches or damage to the sleek metal of his pistol. An obnoxiously good point. And he had saved him from those bandits a few days prior… he could clear his irrational conscience of believing he owed something to Deputy Reed of all people and move on with his life.

“Okay, okay. I get 50, you get 50,” Kent relented.

“Fine.”

Kent holstered his gun and walked over to Jules Sutherland’s blood-soaked corpse. He lifted it over his shoulder and began the slow walk out into the field, back to where he’d left Mara.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Reed spoke up accusingly.

Kent didn’t stop walking. “Back to the sheriff’s office. Where else would I ride with a corpse?”

“Not without me. I’m not letting you take all the credit for yourself,” Reed rummaged through the few belongings Sutherland had around the fire.

“You better make it quick,” he groused. Kent placed Sutherland’s corpse on the ground and stretched out his back.

Reed gathered what he could into Sutherland’s saddlebags and began to carry them away. Kent lifted the corpse back over his shoulder, and they walked back to the horses.

Once they were all loaded up, they began their ride back to town, Reed in the lead while Kent followed.

The sheriffs, Fowler included, were briefly taken aback at the sight of the duo walking into the building together, Reed holding some of Sutherland’s belongings and Kent carrying his body.

Fowler inspected the body and confirmed once and for all that they got Sutherland.

He couldn’t bring himself to directly acknowledge the fact he was there with Reed, so he simply told Fowler, “just split the reward money even between us, Sheriff.”

Kent left as Reed curtly briefed Fowler on the tiny piece of information Sutherland mentioned before dying and felt like he was being watched.

After Sutherland, Reed stopped acknowledging him with genuine hostility. Though they still regarded each other icily around town, Reed no longer glared at him for extended periods of time, and Kent found himself freer from distraction than ever before.


	3. Connelly

The farmhouse grew closer, and he had begun to contemplate where to pull off the road and hitch his horse when he heard rapid hoofbeats behind him. Looking back confirmed his guess that it was, in fact, a certain deputy and his sleek steed.

Reed slowed his horse down to a trot next to him.

Kent was taken aback by that. He had expected the man to speed past him as he usually did. He watched Deputy Reed dispassionately, intent on giving no indication of his thoughts.

Reed spoke up before he could. “You gonna kill this one too, bounty hunter?”

“Only if I have to. How’d you get here at the exact same time as me? You followin’ me?”

Reed barked a laugh. “Hell no, I’ve got better things to do than keep track of some old asshole. Someone told me what was going on at Thunderhead Ranch.”

Kent looked forward. The ranch entrance was closer now. He slowed his horse down to a halt. Reed stopped and halted his horse slightly ahead of him. He looked back, confused. “You not even gonna race me, old man?”

“If you go racing in on that beast of yours, Connelly will know something’s up. Do everyone a favor and _walk_ , Deputy.”

“Oh yeah? What if he takes off on foot?”

“What if he’s perched up in that barn with a rifle? He’s just some petty thief, but you never know what a cornered person will do.” Kent pulled Mara off to the side, dismounted, and grabbed his repeater to ensure it was loaded.

“Christ, you’re uncompetitive,” Reed grumbled, but he dismounted his horse and led him over next to Mara.

He’d half expected Reed to race in guns blazing, and he had to turn away while inspecting his gun to mask his surprise. “Wise choice, Deputy.”

“Doing another stealth approach, are you?”

“No shit,” Kent began to walk past him, towards the entrance of the ranch, where the barn lay concealed behind the house.

Reed quickly caught up to him and loudly whispered, “how the hell did you know he was in the barn? You psychic or something?”

“At the saloon, a ranch hand mentioned a figure seen through the windows. Dead giveaway.”

“Well, aren’t you lucky.”

Kent flanked the back of the house and stood at the corner to peer out towards the barn. It was a nearly straight line of sight between the house and the barn, and not many options for cover on the way up to it. Outside of the fencing that led up to the building, there were a couple of coops and sheds.

He noted the trees lining the outer fences of the property, including behind the barn.

Deputy Reed must have had a similar mindset, because he simply ordered, “I’ll sneak up behind the trees, you head straight towards the barn.”

Dammit. Staking a claim on the same idea. Of course. He nodded, and gruffly told Reed, “you’d better fucking cover for me,” before he readied himself to start moving.

Reed snuck back towards the trees.

Moving up towards the barn was a tentative process. For every stand of trees Reed slowly but surely passed, slipping between them as nothing but a blurred outline, Kent moved forward swiftly and quietly, covering the ground between the small structures with a practiced rhythm from taking bounties by surprise. He wouldn’t have made it this far alone, otherwise. He took deep, even breaths as he moved to keep his adrenaline levels low. That part had never changed, no matter how many times he’d taken down bounties.

Kent listened carefully for any sounds of life from within the barn as he pressed himself lightly against the wall between the door and an open window, preparing himself. Nothing. He glanced in and noted the seemingly abandoned interior in the dim lighting. It all looked normal, dusty, underused.

He saw Reed move by as he made the final stretch to the barn. Time to move.

Kent took a deep breath and, keeping his ears open for any changes in the barn, vaulted through the window. He landed with a quiet _thud_ and readied his repeater.

From the opposite side of the barn, a door creaked open. He brought the butt of the rifle to his shoulder and glared down the sights, aiming it at the source of the noise.

Deputy Reed glared back at him; gun drawn. Kent lowered his rifle again.

The floorboards creaked overhead, and they both glanced up.

Kent gestured with his head towards the edge of the loft while looking at Reed. Reed raised his handgun, and the two of them began to slink towards the edge of the loft, where their line of sight would open again.

When they were lined up with where the ladder came down from the loft, Reed yelled, “Kurt Connelly, we know you’re up there! You better fuckin’ come down here unarmed.”

There was the scraping of shoes against floorboards and a hissed word, likely a curse. Footsteps began to move over them, towards the walls.

Reed began to sprint back for the window Kent had jumped through. “Fuckin’ runners!” he muttered as he left.

Kent made for the ladder and furiously climbed his way up its rungs. Though it seemed quieter, he pointed his handgun into the loft as a precautionary measure before he peered over it.

Connelly was gone, and he heard shouting below.

He ran to the open window, knelt, and readied his repeater. Kent ordered: “stop or I’ll shoot!” as he lined up his shot for the fleeing Connelly’s shoulder.

Connelly didn’t stop in his beeline for the trees, and Reed wasn’t close enough that Kent was reassured he’d catch him.

“ _Stop_! This is your last warning!” Kent’s voice rang out amongst the ranch buildings.

Connelly kept running.

Kent blew a sigh. So be it. He lined up his shot and pulled the trigger.

The bullet struck the ground a few feet in front of Connelly and sent grass and dirt flying. The outlaw screeched to a halt and almost toppled forward. He seemed to glance back up at Kent, who took aim at his shoulder with a scowl, before Deputy Reed caught his attention again.

As Reed ran up to him, gun drawn, he began to reach for his holster a moment too late. Kent began to put his finger on the trigger again, but then Reed slapped Connelly’s empty hand away and shoved him to the ground and began the process of detainment. He slung the repeater over his shoulder and made his way back out of the barn once he saw Connelly was successfully handcuffed.

Kent caught up to the two of them as Reed began to lead Connelly back to where their horses were. “Nice shot back there, old man,” he dryly complimented as Kent fell in step next to Connelly.

Kent gave him an unamused look from across Connelly but shrugged it off.

The petty thief began to whine: “you cocksuckers nearly gave me a damn heart attack, who the fuck sneaks up like that-“

“Who the fuck jumps out a second story window?! Apparently morons like you do,” Reed disrupted.

“If it wasn’t for this wannabe sniper asshole missing me,” he gestured with his head towards Kent, “I’d be outta this shithole already and you’d never catch me-“

“Perfect. My shot fulfilled its purpose, then,” Kent interrupted. “Unless you _wanted_ him dead, Deputy?”

To his delight, Reed’s jaw clenched, and he focused ahead of them.

“I think I’ll take bein’ alive.“ Connelly voiced. They both ignored him.

As they rode their horses back down the street with Connelly on Reed’s horse, Sheriff Fowler called out to them from the front steps of the Sheriff’s Department. “Both of you got Connelly? Mrs. Hughes will be thrilled to hear that.”

They stopped their horses and dismounted in front of the building, “Yeah.” Reed affirmed, “just… split the reward again.”

Sheriff Fowler looked between the two of them, brow furrowed in thought, before he turned and walked back into the building.

As he walked up the steps behind Reed and Connelly, Kent reflected that he, too, didn’t know how the hell their cooperation kept happening.

Kent noticed that after Connelly, the deputy only gruffly acknowledged him, often with nothing more than a neutral glance and a curt nod. He returned the acknowledgement to Reed, secretly relieved he didn’t have to be on a lookout whenever he was in town for that scathing, judgmental glare of Reed’s. He was able to walk by the man without getting his shoulder crashed into, and even be at the hotel bar with the deputy in the same room and not have an overwhelming urge to stop everything and intensely glare at Reed to hold his ground.

In the week after detaining Connelly together, Kent brought in another two bounties in an adjacent county, a serial petty thief and a swindler. During that time, he was away from his temporary home of Fort Collins. He had to ignore the slightest weight of disappointment when he went about his work and Reed never came sprinting up on that volatile horse of his. He wrote it off as irrationality. How the hell could he miss the company of an obnoxious, somehow competent lawman who liked to poke fun at his sharpshooting skills?

The deputy had somehow gone from being one of the more caustic presences Kent had witnessed in his life to being a jackass that he somewhat tolerated. But even then, Kent didn’t know why he started to associate the man with hunting down bounties. He’d been bounty hunting alone for years, he wasn’t about to re-initiate true teamwork. Even if they were somehow excellent at communicating without words and taking down bounties together for people who weren’t even friends. With his days as a lawman in Detroit long behind him, Kent couldn’t deal with true teamwork again. Not after he’d had to watch his back and not let his guard down for a split second when he’d worked with some other bounty hunters, so many of them prone to greed and backstabbing of the figurative and even literal kind once the bounty was secured or close by. Sure, he’d had asshole colleagues, but never to that level even at their worst.

And now he was somehow getting along with the deputy… perhaps true to Miller’s advice, Reed had ever so slightly begun to respect him. Even if he had a knack for downplaying his marksmanship and referring to him as “old.”


	4. The Cattle Rustlers

After he returned to Larimer County and Fort Collins yet again, Kent stepped out into the fading light of the evening and onto the front steps of the hotel. He had to do a double take when he saw a familiar dark brown hat, white shirt and red vest. Sure enough, Deputy Reed leaned against one of the columns. Reed glanced over towards Kent and stepped away from the column once he saw him.

“Fowler wants you to accompany me. We’re stretched thin,” Reed told him casually.

Suspiciously, Kent asked, “me? Why?”

Reed shrugged. “Tunk if I know. I’m supposed to track down the cattle rustlers Preston Ward, Justin Ward, and Hart Sullivan. They were spotted camped alongside a little lake outside of town. The wagon’s hitched up and he wants you to accompany me. Unless you’ve got a murderer or some other shithead to go kill.”

“Not immediately.” Kent considered his offer, remembering the observant look that Sheriff Fowler had given the two of them earlier. Three cattle rustlers split between the two of them would draw in a decent enough reward. “Split it half and half?”

“So long as you don’t kill anyone. Remember that trials are a thing, bounty hunter.” Reed began to make his way down the steps and called over his shoulder, “now c’mon, it’s a drive out. Hopefully those dipshits will be sleepin’ when we arrive.”

“Christ, you’re never going to let that go, are you?” Kent complained as he followed him down the street.

“I’m not planning on it.”

The wagon ride out to the town was quiet, other than the labored breaths of the draft horses and the creak of the wheels. Kent kept his repeater at the ready, on the lookout for any signs of trouble headed their way. Nothing arose.

They stopped the wagon where a small hill concealed the view to the lake’s shore. They could see a column of smoke rising from somewhere amongst the trees.

“That’s gotta be them,” Reed said as he hopped off the wagon and Kent followed suit.

“They couldn’t be more fucking obvious. Now how are you doing this?” Kent asked while he habitually checked over his beloved weapons.

“Me? You lettin’ _me_ call the shots?” Reed asked smugly.

“I’m ensuring we have a plan before you charge in and pull any stunts. Don’t you test me.”

“Holy fuck you’re letting me be in charge! I never thought I’d live to see this day!” Reed exclaimed in mock glee.

“You should be so lucky. I’m making sure you don’t get your dumb ass shot by cattle rustlers. I doubt Fowler would let me stick around if you got shot by them on my watch, and I intend on hunting down more bounties before I leave this place.”

“Uh-huh, sure you are. Let’s get a better look at them,” Reed began his way up the slope, and crouched as he reached the summit; Kent followed him closely.

They crouched in the grass side by side. Kent pulled out his binoculars and began to examine the camp.

He could make out what looked like three figures around the campfire, somewhat concealed by the pine trees in the woods surrounding the small lake. “Oh yeah. I see three people. Two of them laying down. That’s promising,” he commentated.

Reed hummed in agreement. “You take left, I’ll take right.”

Taking control back, of course. Kent put the binoculars away. “Fine. Then what?”

“We sneak up to their camp, and once I take care of the sitting one, we’ll get the other two.”

“Okay,” Kent replied curtly and set off to sneak down his side of the hill. Despite the darkness of night, he was able to keep track of the cattle rustlers from the campfire’s lighting. They barely moved from their positions as he and Reed drew closer, the two men who were laying down appeared to be asleep.

His black coat was a godsend in this situation, allowing him to blend in well with the darkness of the shadows. The ground cushioned by pine needles was favorable, his steps were softened and nearly silent. He stared over at the seated cattle rustler, close enough to see his features and that he, too, had begun to nod off, none the wiser that Kent was right outside the little clearing.

The fact that nobody was keeping a watchful eye out and they were camping at a low point where they could easily be overtaken were indications that these outlaws were barely outlaws, just sloppy thieves who didn’t bother to account for risks.

He could see Deputy Reed on the other side of the clearing, his white sleeves faintly noticeable in the lighting as he inched towards the half-asleep rustler.

Reed disappeared directly behind him. He rose, covered the rustler’s mouth, and dragged him back off the log in a matter of a second.

There were the sounds of muffled shouting and struggling, and Kent stood up and stepped quietly into the firelight. He saw Reed with his knee pressed into the rustler’s back as he tied a bandana around his mouth. Once the man was cuffed as well, Reed stood up and gave Kent a smug grin.

Kent scoffed and shook his head. Yeah, yeah, he was successful with one. Dig deal.

There was a yawn, and the sleeping rustler closest to Reed began to stir.

He looked pointedly at Reed and gestured with his handgun, hoping he’d make sense of the motion.

To his relief, Reed nodded gruffly and pulled out his handgun.

Kent glared at the waking rustler and pointed his pistol at the man as he sat up.

“Not mornin’ yet, is it-“ the rustler turned his head towards Reed and his head snapped up to look at the deputy. “Oh, _fuck_!”

The third rustler awoke at the shout, and he staggered to his feet and cursed when he saw Kent had taken aim at him instead.

“Hands up, don’t you fucking move!” Reed shouted at both.

“Where’s Preston?!” the rustler in front of Reed frantically asked as he raised his hands.

Muffled shouting was his response, from behind the log.

“You were supposed to stand guard, you sack o’ shit!” The rustler before Kent shouted exasperatedly.

“Your brother sucks,” the rustler that must have been Sullivan muttered.

After all three rustlers were detained and the bandana was removed from Preston’s mouth, with Reed warning him that it would stay that way only if he was quiet, they began to herd the three back over the hill to the wagon.

They loaded into the barred seating area with minimal grievances, other than Sullivan and Justin’s muttered curses at a silent, morose Preston.

Kent noted that it was a nice change having the outlaws, though they hardly counted as seasoned outlaws- they couldn’t have been much older than their late teens, argue amongst themselves instead of with him for once. He hated listening to bounties’ flimsy excuses, their insults at lawmen and bounty hunters alike, their death threats that very rarely amounted to anything as Mara carried their unpleasant weight gracefully back to whatever law enforcement office.

Reed shut and locked the door of the wagon before he made his way to the drivers’ side.

After he’d fed the draft horses small pieces of a biscuit for their patience, Kent began to make his way towards the seating. “You’re not going to investigate their camp?” he questioned.

Reed paused to address him, ready to climb up into the seat. “Why would I? They’re petty criminals, not bank robbers. I doubt there’s any gang affiliations, just flat out livestock robbery for the hell of it,” he looked back at the barred section and raised his voice to ask, “isn’t that right, boys?”

The trio glared at Reed through the bars. “Give it a couple years, lawman,” Sullivan threatened.

Reed laughed harshly. “Sure. Fuckin’ amateurs.”

Kent climbed up the other side of the wagon and moved over to the drivers’ seat, taking ahold of the reins.

“The fuck you think you’re doin’?” Reed interrogated as he leapt into the opposite seat with a suspicious look.

“Driving back to town, deputy. Where else would I be going?” Kent asked innocently.

“I’ll drive. Fowler assigned me to this whole thing-” Reed began to reach for the reins, but Kent leaned to the side and held the reins away from him, mindful not to pull on the horses’ mouths.

“He assigned me, too. And if your riding skills are anything to go from, the drive will be a disaster,” Kent countered.

“Fuck you!” Reed swore with no anger. “I’m a good horseman and I’ve driven this fucking wagon more times than I can count-“ he griped.

“Deputy. Just sit there and look out for trouble. It’s easier.”

“Fuck easier, old man. Give me the-“

“Holy shit,” Kent exasperated over his stubbornness, “do you want to show up hours late to Fowler, only to explain it was because we couldn’t agree who should drive the fucking wagon back?”

“I’d rather have the wagon crash,” Sullivan chimed in. Kent ignored his input.

Deputy Reed scowled at him, but said, “give me your fuckin’ rifle, then.”

Kent gave him a look of resentment but held the reins away from Reed and shrugged the rifle off his back. He handed it over to the deputy, who eagerly snatched it away.

“You’d better be careful with that,” Kent warned as he flicked the reins and the horses pulled the wagon forward. That repeater had been through him for so many years; aiding him in capturing so many outlaws, fighting off bandits, even taking down the occasional big game. He hated even parting with its familiar weight and feel when he worked.

“I’ll be sure to hold it as loosely as possible,” Reed dryly replied.

Kent gave him a glare from the corner of his eye as he steered the horses back onto the road. “I’m serious, deputy. I’ll end you if you damage it, especially on purpose.”

Reed inspected it, pointing the barrel away from them and towards the abundant display of stars above them. “You threatenin’ a lawman?” he asked, tone amused despite the weight of the context.

“Only hypothetically, deputy. Don’t overthink it.” He said, imitating Reed’s dry tone as he found himself playing along with Reed’s teasing.

"If I damage this, what’d you fight me with, huh?”

“I’d still have a pistol.” Kent stated.

“And what if that’s also damaged?” Reed questioned.

“I have fists. I could always punch you,” he reminded the deputy, though he knew the statement was completely hypothetical.

Reed huffed in amusement and turned his attention to the repeater. He shifted it around in his hands and took in its details. “How old is this thing? I’m starting to doubt it even works. Pretty sure I saw this exact model when I was a kid.”

“Old enough to drink. If you take good care of firearms, they last a long time.”

“You should get with the times, old man. There’s so many nicer weapons out there.”

The horses were trotting down a straight stretch of road, so Kent held the reins with one hand and drew out his pistol with the other, letting the cold metal of the barrel shine in the lantern’s light as he displayed it to Reed. “I _am_ ‘with the times,’ deputy.”

Reed looked over at it, before he grabbed his own handgun and showed it off. “This is better.” It was an impressive firearm; a more recent model Kent had seen in passing. Not that he’d ever tell the deputy that.

Kent re-holstered his handgun, and Reed did the same. “You should get your horse with the times.”

Reed laughed roughly at him, “What kind of a comeback is that?”

“You’re a lawman, and you bought a _racehorse_.”

“So? Satan suits me just fine.” Reed bragged.

“A horse that loses his mind at distant flying birds is suitable for a lawman?”

“He’ll kick your nag’s ass in a race,” Reed argued.

First his fighting skills were being questioned, then his guns, and now his beloved _horse_? Reed was unrelenting. “Mara’s no nag. She’s an Anglo-Arabian cross, only the best lineages for endurance and speed. And she’s cold blooded enough she doesn’t spook at trivial shit. We’d win any day of the week,” Kent challenged.

“You fell off her when I shot those bandits,” Reed reminded him.

“I wasn’t holding on well enough, is all. You surprised her.” Kent knew he could just ignore him or shut the conversation with him down. But somehow, he was enjoying this at times irritating exchange. How long had it been since he’d interacted with someone like this, outside of the superficial small talk in his travels and lashing out at the overly defiant outlaws that wore down whatever patience he had?

Reed raised an eyebrow. “That so? Sutherland was a fluke, we’ll kick your-“

Sullivan groaned loudly from behind them, “If you sparks crash the damn wagon cause you were distracted idiots, I swear-“

Kent, flustered by that definition of their conversation, turned around a split second before Reed did.

They shouted, “shut the fuck up!” in unison.

He found eye contact with Reed after they faced forward again to be too difficult, and he focused on driving the wagon. Reed stayed quiet, and Kent didn’t dare look over at him to make sense of if he was as somehow embarrassed at a comment like that as Kent was. Not that he’d ever say he was. There was no way in hell he’d let some outlaw get the best of his emotions.

Lights were getting nearer on the horizon, and Kent felt relieved at the approaching sight of Fort Collins. He could finally get a good night’s rest.


	5. Horse Racing & Hellfire

Though many of his and Reed’s snappier conversations had simply been competitive boastings, the horse race did wind up occurring.

Kent was out riding Mara one day on the edge of town, having returned from successfully tracking down a horse thief in an adjacent county. He recognized Reed’s red-brown coat and his horse from afar, and he watched them closely as they trotted up to where he and Mara slowly walked along.

“You ready to get your ass kicked, old man?” Reed asked. His horse snorted furiously as he trotted in circles around Mara.

Mara eyed the horse as he trotted around them and Kent replied with a gruff, “excuse me?”

“Horse race. Me and you. See who’s got the fancier steed, though obviously it’s Mephisto.”

“That his official name?” Kent stopped Mara and eyed the sleek, black horse as he pranced in circles around him.

“Short for ‘Mephistopheles.’” Reed straightened his posture in the saddle. He looked ridiculously full of himself at the mention of the name.

In all his born days, that had to be one of the worst horse names he’d ever encountered. Disgusted, Kent said, “who the fuck names their horse after the Devil? I thought Satan was bad enough for a nickname, but that... Jesus. No wonder he’s like that.”

“Like what?” Reed asked defensively over the sound of his horse’s loud snorts.

“Crazy.” He bluntly answered as he watched how the horse threatened to rear and Reed pulled tightly on the reins. Kent almost pitied the beast now that he’d seen Reed’s handling in closer detail and learned his name. But that trait did mean that he and Mara would probably win. Give Reed a reason to shut that captivating, insufferable mouth of his.

His gut twisted in horror when he realized that he’d thought of Reed’s mouth as ‘captivating.’ Where the fuck did that come from? The anticipation of racing must’ve gotten to his rationality.

Those thoughts were pushed away quickly, and he replied coolly, “I’ll pass. It’s the end of the workday, we’ve both had enough.”

“Oh, are you afraid of losin’?” Reed goaded.

“Never.” Kent spat.

Reed started to taunt, “Really? I think you’re lazy, and afraid of losing. A horse race is just too much for you, some _supposedly_ gallant bounty hunter-“

“You have a lot of nerve making those assumptions, Reed,” Kent said tersely.

“Well prove yourself then, bounty hunter.”

“Fine,” Kent snapped, “bring it, deputy!”

Reed slowed his horse to a stop next to Mara and turned Mephisto back out towards the countryside. “We’ll destroy you,” he boasted as his horse tossed his head and stomped in place.

Kent rode Mara up to Mephisto’s side and halted. “You won’t. Where to?”

Reed shouted “Thunderhead Ranch!” as he struck his horse and Mephisto lurched forward into a reckless gallop.

“Fuck!” Kent cursed as he kicked Mara forward and the gray mare took off at the gallop as well. No proper countdown was such a cheap move; but he didn’t know why he was surprised.

Mara caught up quickly to Mephisto’s head start and settled next to him a foot back.

Over the shrieks of the wind in his ears, he could hear Reed’s garbled, “told you she’s inferior!” Kent glared at him in response but slowed Mara to a canter. It would favor them later.

As Thunderhead Ranch’s front entrance began to grow closer, Kent kicked Mara into the gallop again. Reed watched them race back up, expression unreadable, before he looked forward, to where the entrance lined up with the road. He kicked and shouted at Mephisto as he fulfilled Kent’s assumptions, and grew too caught up in the adrenaline of the home stretch. Mephisto began to slow down, and Mara passed him effortlessly. She took the last several strides to where the front entrance intersected with the road gracefully, decisively victorious.

“Atta girl,” he murmured reverently, patting at her neck. He slowed her down and began to ride in circles off the side of the road to cool off.

There was a flurry of hoofbeats and Mephisto skidded to a halt in front of the entrance, snorting hard.

“Dammit Satan! You had one job!” Reed cursed. He kicked his horse into a walk and tried to steer him towards where Kent and Mara were. The horse stopped and his head shot up. “Walk, you asshole!” Reed barked. He tried to kick him forward and slapped at his croup. Mephisto stayed put.

Kent knew what was going to happen. “Pull him in a tight circle, Reed,” he ordered. He hoped the deputy would hear the seriousness in his voice and not oppose for everyone’s sake.

Being deputy Reed, he opposed anyway. He defensively snapped, “fuck off old man, I can’t pull him in a tight circle if he isn’t walking.”

“Reed, for fuck’s sake, pull his head towards you so he won’t-“

Mephisto backed up and lifted his front legs up into a swift, nearly perpendicular rear. Reed yelled and fell off straight behind him, landing with a _thud_ on his back. A cloud of dust dispersed from his collision with the dirt road.

Kent’s irritation dispelled for a moment as he watched Reed fall and he briefly worried over if he was seriously hurt. Mephisto placed his hooves back down and cantered off past Mara as Reed began to move, groaning in pain.

“Christ deputy, I tried to warn you!” Kent scolded as he dismounted Mara and ran over to Reed.

“Fuckin’ hell, not again!” Reed groused. He staggered to his feet as Kent arrived at his side.

For such a flawed person, Kent found himself immensely concerned over the deputy’s welfare. “Nothing broken, right?” he asked casually.

“No. Thankfully. I don’t want to be put on medical leave over something so stupid,” Reed tersely replied. He stooped over slowly and fetched his dark brown hat off the ground. He brushed the dust off, placed it back on, and walked away.

Kent watched him closely as he walked off the road. He moved stiffly, but that was about it. Reed began to stomp through the grass, towards where his horse idly grazed in the middle of the roadside meadow.

“You have food?” Kent called after him.

Reed looked back at him and questioned crossly, “for what?”

“To catch him.”

Reed waved him away and walked on, “I can get him without bribery.”

“I doubt that,” Kent muttered under his breath as he mounted his horse. He rode slowly after Reed, intrigued at how the scene would play out.

When Reed got closer to Mephisto, Kent stopped his horse to watch from a distance.

Mephisto sent a bored glance at Reed and continued to graze as Reed stepped towards him with more caution than before, ordering “c’mere, Satan.”

When he was about to grab ahold of the reins, Mephisto shot his head up and sidestepped away from his reach; Reed cursed and stumbled after him. The horse turned away and trotted off. He lowered his head to graze once again when he’d put enough distance between himself and Reed.

Kent couldn’t help but chuckle quietly at the sight. Mephisto knew what he was doing, and deputy Reed was barely a horseman.

He trotted Mara past Reed, who resumed stomping through the grass. Mephisto eyed them with interest as they approached.

“Hey, mind your own business bounty hunter!” Reed snarled as they rode by.

“Step back and let an actual horseman handle this,” he called back as he stopped Mara closer to Mephisto. The racehorse began to graze again.

Kent did not by any means qualify as an expert horseman. He’d experienced already trained, relatively levelheaded horses his whole life, but compared to Reed he was a proper bronc buster.

He rummaged through one of his saddle bags and pulled out a biscuit. When he snapped it in two, Mara recognized the sound and turned her head towards him. He fed her one half, scratched her forehead, and then tossed her reins to the ground. “Stay,” Kent ordered.

He glanced back at Reed. The deputy stopped and observed him coldly, arms crossed.

He turned and began to walk towards Mephisto, who watched him as he grazed.

“Here, boy,” Kent called softly as he stepped closer to the horse, “I’ve got a treat for you.”

As he stepped up next to the horse, Mephisto lifted his head up and turned away from Kent.

Kent held out the biscuit, and Mephisto stopped to look at it. He delicately reached out his nose to sniff at it. After a moment of contemplation, he lipped at it, pulled the biscuit into his mouth and munched on it. He didn’t move away when Kent grabbed the reins. Mephisto ate the treat and observed Kent with interest as the man began to scratch his neck.

“Alright, that’s enough cowboy, give him back to me.” Reed irritably called out. Once he walked up next to Kent, he snatched the reins, and Kent quietly took his exit.

“You’re welcome,” Kent called back as he walked back over to his horse.

When he remounted his horse, he heard Reed grumble to himself. But the deputy made no true comeback when he clambered into the saddle and caught up to Kent for the ride back to town.

Kent considered that to be a victory as well.

~ ~ ~

After their horse race, it took Reed falling off Mephisto in his presence six times over the course of two weeks for Kent to decide that it was about time he intervened.

He caught up to a stiffly moving deputy Reed as he walked home from the sheriff’s office, Mephisto in tow. Kent told himself that it was so he and Reed could focus on their jobs and not deal with lousy horsemanship. Reed was, as he had started to notice with lessened disdain, competent at his job; yet he could accomplish so much more without having a spooky racehorse who took charge at times, or even startled at the sight of small rodents or birds. He’d had to double ride with Reed after outlaws and ne’er do wells three times too much. Whenever Reed’s balance had faltered too much and he’d grabbed onto Kent’s back or arm, there was a foreign but distantly familiar feeling that jolted through him. And it distracted him more than he liked.

He wasn’t intervening because his blood iced over for a moment whenever Reed took a tumble off his horse, worried he’d broken a bone or worse, injured his spine or neck. Not because he’d known several people who’d had near death experiences when they fell off horses, himself almost one of them. And certainly not because he pitied Mephisto, after he saw how Reed asked far too much of him for the creature he was.

“Hey, Reed,” he called out as he jogged up to the man. Reed turned and looked at him with an inquisitive expression. Somehow, they hadn’t been grating on each other’s nerves as frequently.

“Yeah?”

“You still working?”

Reed shook his head.

“Good. Then follow me.”

He eyed Kent with guarded interest but fell into step next to him as Mephisto followed. “For what?”

“You’ll see,” Kent said.

“You going to murder me in some secluded spot, bounty hunter?” the heaviness of the assumption was downplayed by Reed’s playful, questioning tone.

“Hell no, that’s too much effort,” after a pause, he added dryly, “besides, the horse would be a witness.”

Reed huffed a laugh, “bold of you to assume he wouldn’t just run for it the second you pull out a weapon.”

Kent snorted and shook his head, and there settled a silence between them as they walked.

When he’d brought his own horse out and climbed into the saddle, Reed asked from Mephisto’s back: “so where the hell are we going?”

“To Boulder. Not that long a ride, the day’s still young,” Kent replied smoothly. He trotted Mara down the street, and Reed caught up to pace next to him.

“There some bounty out there?”

“Not any I’m immediately after.”

“We gettin’ drunk off our asses on expensive booze?”

The assumption caught him off guard. That was what he got for keeping things mysterious, even if Reed had voluntarily followed him. “What? No. Besides, your town has a perfectly functional saloon if you decide to do that in your free time.”

“And see the deadbeat drunks I cuff or break up brawls with more often? No way in hell. Not while I’m trying to relax,” Reed replied defiantly.

Kent shared Reed’s sentiments as he remembered dealing with the same drunks all too well. They both quieted down for the rest of the ride, though he couldn’t help but notice Reed gave numerous suspicious looks his way, barely noticeable at the edges of his vision.

As the buildings of Boulder began to shadow over them, Kent continued riding along the outskirts, until the livestock yard came into view.

They were almost to it when Reed commented, “you want Satan gone that bad, huh?”

“I never said that. You can keep Mephisto if you want,” Kent coolly stated as he dismounted and hitched Mara in front of the large barn. Reed followed suit.

“I don’t need a new horse, seriously-“

“You do for your job, Deputy. Do you really want your cause of death to be because your horse sent you flying the wrong way during a gunfight? Or because you were riding along and a bird startled your horse too much? That’s not exactly valiant.”

“Oh fuck off. I can handle him perfectly well-“

“Your definition of ‘well’ is fucked up. This is for your dignity.”

Reed gave him that same inquisitive, slightly softer look from earlier as they stepped into the barn. “Christ, you’re that concerned about my dignity?”

Kent hated the fact his face heated up, and he willed it to go away, thankful that the lighting around them was so dim. Maybe Reed wouldn’t catch on. “I’m concerned that Sheriff Fowler will find himself even more short-staffed from ridiculous circumstances,” he nonchalantly explained. In a hope to refute Reed’s true assumptions, he added: “and that nice little town of yours will be overwhelmed by outlaws and chaos will reign. So how about we don’t let that happen?”

Reed watched him closely and slightly frowned in thought. “Fine,” was his flat reply after a moment.

Kent focused back ahead and made his way down the aisle, observing the various horses in their stalls as he walked; most of them dozing.

When he heard faint voices behind him, he turned and looked back at Reed, who had started to converse with one of the stable hands. They began to walk over to a stall, and Kent caught up to them.

They stopped in front of a short and sleek dark gray horse focused on eating his hay.

As Kent caught up to them, he heard the stable hand recite monotonously, “he’s a 5 year old Arabian stallion, bred in Virginia…”

Reed nodded along, deep in thought. He scowled when Kent came up to them.

When the stablehand paused, Kent remarked: “Reed’s a lawman… I think he needs something less hot-blooded. A horse that can handle chaos, preferably.”

The stablehand gave Kent a look of disapproval but turned on his heel and walked farther down the aisle. He called to them, “we’ve got a Kentucky Saddler, arrived here earlier this week.”

“You really gotta put a damper on everything, huh?” Reed hissed to Kent as they followed.

“You have an ex-racehorse already. You don’t need an Arabian on top of that to flaunt how fancy you try to be.”

He must have caught on to Reed’s selection criteria for horses, because the look Reed gave him was nearly as hostile as when they first began to interact. “My money, my choice, old man,” he defiantly hissed.

“It’s a waste of money if you get wounded or die, _deputy._ ” Kent snapped back as they caught up to the bored stable hand.

Kent watched the horse. A deep red chestnut with nearly no white on him, that looked at the trio with perked ears as he rested in the far corner of his stall, his long neck arched.

“This here’s ‘Oak Valley Adagio.’ Eight years old, bred in North Carolina, apparently his lineage has Saddlers that were ridden in the Civil War. We’ve got his papers.”

Reed observed the horse with interest, which Kent found himself sharing. For such a common color, his coat was beautiful, sure to be eye-catchingly metallic in the appropriate light. He sensed that Reed would enjoy that.

“How much?” Reed asked.

“300 dollars.” The stable hand said.

Kent internally recoiled at the price tag. It was getting close to what Mara’s purer bred half-siblings would have cost him.

The price didn’t seem to deter Reed, as the deputy looked smugly at the horse. Kent sighed in disappointment, his suspicions from earlier confirmed once again.

Reed declared, “I’ll buy him-“

“Hold up, deputy. Test ride him first,” Kent interrupted. Sure, he was a pretty and expensive equine specimen, but there were more to horses than their looks and lineage. If this was how Reed decided on buying his horses, how the hell was he not already permanently injured or dead?

The stablehand and Reed both glared at him. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, bounty hunter,” Reed snapped.

Kent growled, as his temper began to rise, “well too fucking bad, deputy, because you’ll get it anyway. Don’t impulsively buy a horse. Give him a try first. The whole reason I brought you here was to find a horse that’s a better match.”

“Fuck off, Mephisto’s a perfectly good match-“

“He’s not!” Kent shouted, to the alarm of the stable hand and nearby horses. Reed’s expression went cold. There was no point in controlling his voice now, he was too angry at Reed’s denseness. It was like their first interactions all over again. He stepped into Reed’s space and jabbed a finger at his nose, furiously lecturing, “you fucking listen to me, _deputy_. Mephisto isn’t a good match for you, and you know why? You’re a shitty horseman. One of the worst I’ve seen in my life. How the fuck have you not gotten killed yet?! You buy the worst possible type of horse for your career because he looks like he’d belong to some rich asshole, you push him way too hard and get angry at him for being exhausted, and then you suffer the consequences over and over. If you buy this horse on a whim and fuck him up too because as a prey animal he’s too reactive, which is his _natural fucking instinct_ , I swear to god I’ll-“

Reed was beginning to shift his weight forward to shove at him when the stable hand stepped in between them and pushed the duo away from each other. “Both of you, stop it! I won’t do business with either of you if you assholes spook the horses and start a brawl.”

Reed scowled at him, and then at Kent, but backed off. Kent icily watched him but stepped away and rolled his shoulders back, taking a deep breath to try and calm his nerves.

“So this asshole over here,” Reed gestured with his head at Kent, “doesn’t fuck up the sale, I’ll test ride him and then decide.”

“Fine by me,” the stable hand stated with a defeated sigh, “you got tack?”

“Yeah. I’ll go get it,” Reed turned on his heel and walked back to the entrance.

When Reed walked by with his saddle and bridle in his arms, Kent passed by him. He told him curtly, “I’ll be waiting by the horses.”

While he waited for Reed, he had enough time to smoke an entire cigarette under the eaves of the barn and let most of his anger dissipate as he brushed Mara’s coat and inspected her hooves. As he settled into the familiar, soothing routine, he told himself repeatedly it was ridiculous to be this invested in the deputy and his horses’ welfare, and he had almost started to believe it by the time Reed came back out, leading the red horse.

Reed’s eyes locked with his as he began to tie Mephisto’s lead rope to his saddle. “I thought you left,” he said flatly.

“I’m a man of my word,” Kent shrugged. Frankly, he thought more cursing and harsher words were going to be involved from Reed. He didn’t know how to handle interacting with the deputy after he’d so obviously lost his temper at Reed. Especially when the deputy didn’t immediately start to shout or curse him out, as he had expected.

Reed stared down at him from the towering height of his new horse, slightly taller than Mara and Mephisto. “It’s gettin’ late old man, you gonna mount up or what?” he questioned.

Kent untied Mara’s reins from the hitching post and observed him quizzically. “You’re not going to travel alone?”

Reed shrugged and looked away from him. The lack of eye contact struck Kent as… unusual. After a pause, he recalled, “you remember the bandits, right? If you ride alone at night like this, I’m sure you’ll be bushwhacked like that again.”

“So?” Kent asked with disinterest while he mounted his horse, his curiosity hidden. Perhaps his assumptions weren’t true.

As Reed began to ride back onto the street, he dryly stated, “Fowler will be pissed at me if I let such a useful person die so stupidly.”

As they rode back, he wondered if that statement meant more, like his own had earlier on. Then he wondered why the hell he cared so much about that.

Maybe they had grown to cooperate further even with clashing personalities, and maybe the deputy had rescued him and even possibly saved his life a few times.

And maybe Kent had started to be concerned over his safety and wanted to… _protect_ him. What a pathetic thought to have towards a lawman of all people. Especially if that lawman could be a show-off jackass.

But at the end of the day, they were only acquaintances, sort of professional colleagues. Not even friends. Even if he had intercepted at such dire times, why would Reed have similar thoughts?

As their horses trotted along the road in the dimmed light, Kent broke the silence, as he found pushing away his repeating thoughts on Reed to be too tiresome. “You’re not keeping his name, right?”

Reed laughed. “Hell no. ‘Oak Valley Adagio’ is a dumbass name.”

“You chose one yet?”

“Hellfire.” Reed proudly proclaimed.

“…Hellfire.” Kent repeated to himself. What an unnecessarily intense name. Then again, this was the same man who named his horse after the Devil, and he realized his surprise was ridiculous. “It does match his color well.”

“Exactly,” Reed concurred.

When they parted that evening as Kent dismounted in front of the hotel, Reed gave him a nod and began to ride away.

“’Night, Allen,” Reed called casually over his shoulder before he sped up his horses.

Kent froze when he heard Reed use his surname for the first time, and tried to fight away the light, softer feeling he got at being acknowledged as something other than “bounty hunter” or “old man” by the deputy. He didn’t even know that Reed knew his name, or how he’d learned it, though realistically he’d likely heard it from Sheriff Fowler. And he said an actual goodbye. How the hell could all that happen following a furious confrontation in the same day?

Part of him hoped that his frustration-fueled words had begun to knock some sense into the deputy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all honesty, this is my favorite chapter of the initial part of this story. And part of that is definitely because I got to write about horses in more detail, lmao.


	6. Murphy: Day One

As familiar as he had grown with Deputy Reed through their horse races and occasional teamwork, Kent began to contemplate leaving Larimer County once he’d been there for a month and a half.

Ever since he’d left his old life behind in Detroit and taken up his career as a bounty hunter, he’d constantly been on the move around the country. After spending so much time in Fort Collins, the prolonged stay in the hotel had begun to make him restless, and he wished for a change of scenery once again. He had taken care of numerous targets in northern Colorado, mostly low-level criminals. Whilst they were still work and made up most of the bounties he pursued, he looked forward to the possibility of chasing down something more substantial elsewhere. Maybe he’d have a chance at pursuing one of the true, notorious outlaws that both challenged and intrigued him.

As he sat in the hotel bar and thought over the idea of traveling north to the Montana Territory, he heard a familiar voice behind him ask “Mr. Allen?”

When he turned around, he realized it was Miller. He observed the lawman curiously.

“Sheriff Fowler told me he’d like to speak with you in the sheriff’s office.”

The request caught him off guard, due to how late in the evening it was. “I’ll head over,” he informed Miller, who gave him a polite nod and walked away, back out onto the street.

He finished his glass of whiskey and tried to ignore how much more repulsively it burned compared to his usual patient sipping. After he pulled on his coat, he stepped out of the warm interior and into the chilly night air.

The office was quiet when he walked in. Fowler was seated at his desk towards the back, focused on papers. He motioned for Kent to come up.

Fowler didn’t waste any time and got right to the point, to Kent’s appreciation. “I have a possible target for you, sighted out on the north side of the county recently. Good price on his head. Goes by Gregor Murphy. He is, or at least was, a part of the Mitchell Gang.”

The name was faintly recognizable, whispered amongst the bounty hunters he’d once worked with. “I’m less familiar with that one. I’ve seldom heard of them,” Kent informed him.

The Sheriff explained, “they’ve been around a long time, but their activity hasn’t been consistent in the past couple years. They’ve robbed a few banks, but they’re mainly trigger-happy train robbers. Including one incident over in Dodge City a few weeks back. Shot up a few passengers and guards and took off with their valuables.”

“Christ. Is it only him?”

“That’s uncertain. The telegraph I got said he may be traveling with one or two others. I’ve got Reed ready to chase Murphy down, but I want another person with him due to that uncertainty. And we’re pretty short-staffed here already.”

“Just the two of us?”

“Yes,” Fowler replied tersely. He added with a hint of defensiveness: “I know how Reed can be. But he’s a competent lawman, and I’ve seen how you two work together. You’re an experienced and reliable bounty hunter from what I’ve seen and heard, compared to the usual that pass through here. You two would be the most suitable.”

Kent considered the information. He wouldn’t have to travel far for the chance to track down a large bounty, after all. Though he and Reed still had a strange dynamic, they did work well as a team, as had been proven. And spending more time with Reed was an idea he didn’t exactly oppose. In fact, part of him looked forward to the opportunity to be alongside the deputy more, though he tried to suppress the thought. As much as he wanted more of a sense of companionship, it was unprofessional. He didn’t need to interact with the man outside their cooperation in tracking down the same outlaw.

“I’ll do it.” He informed Fowler.

“Good.” The Sheriff replied with a sharp nod. “Keep in mind that there isn’t much current information on the state and whereabouts of the Mitchell Gang… it’s essential that you and Reed bring him in _alive_ at all costs. The Mitchell gang has allegedly developed affiliations with a few other smaller gangs around here. His capture could mean new leads… for a lot of us lawmen.”

“Where was he last sighted?”

“North of here, around Virginia Dale. A few residents there noted a suspicious looking man yesterday.” Fowler rummaged through a drawer in his desk and handed him a drawing, “there’s a sketch of him. You and Reed should leave first thing tomorrow morning.”

Kent studied the spindly, beady-eyed features of Murphy. He nodded curtly at Fowler and took his exit.

He woke up earlier than his usual already-ungodly hour, as the horizon just barely started to change color. Kent went through his usual morning routine and packed his most immediate essentials, prepared for at least a few days of travel to find Murphy. He tiptoed down the hotel stairs as the bedroll and loaded saddle bags he carried weighed him down.

While he waited for Reed, he leaned against the front porch of the hotel, lit a cigarette, and observed the empty streets in silence. The sunrise blanketed the buildings in orange and gold.

Mara noticed the deputy before he did. He followed his horse’s line of sight and saw Hellfire trot up with Reed on his back. In the golden light, the horse’s coat had a fiery, metallic shine to it that drew in Kent’s gaze. For a brief second he glanced up at Reed and saw how illuminated he, too, seemed to be in the sunrise. He quickly looked away and occupied himself with ensuring his horse was ready for the long ride to Virginia Dale.

“So, Fowler wasn’t lying. You really are up to the challenge, huh?” Reed said in slight disbelief.

“I deal with outlaws for a living, deputy. I’ve dealt with plenty of other Gregor Murphys in my life.”

“You’d better not kill this one,” Reed warned. His past spite at the subject was largely gone, but a sternness remained. “That sack of shit will be a huge step for my career _if_ he comes in alive. I haven’t gotten a raise in too fucking long.”

“I’m not planning on it. You’re not the only one who wants a bonus for bringing in someone that godawful alive.” He mounted his horse and gestured towards the empty road, “lead the way.”

“Gladly,” Reed boasted and turned Hellfire back onto the street.

The horses set a good, consistent pace to the distant town and trotted side by side despite their height difference.

As they rode in silence, Kent began to think over how, exactly, they’d apprehend Murphy with their sparse information.

“What constitutes ‘recently’ for this?” Kent questioned, partially to himself and partially to Reed.

“Huh?” Reed looked over at him strangely.

“Fowler said that Murphy was sighted in Virginia Dale recently. He didn’t expand on that for me,” he explained.

“He told me the telegraph arrived yesterday afternoon, and the sighting had been that morning.”

“And it was near Virginia Dale? No specifics?” Kent questioned further.

Reed shook his head. “No. It was a telegram. Leads from that don’t spell out shit.”

“They do sometimes.”

“Virginia Dale is jack shit nowhere. Hell, most of Larimer County is. Most sightings of outlaws around these parts are at a distance and vague.”

“Obviously,” Kent retorted defensively. “They’re not exactly going to waltz around in public without reason. Only the amateurs or desperate do that.”

Reed huffed a laugh, “those assholes are the easiest ones. No sport in it though.”

“True.”

“Speaking of ‘sport’…”

He’d spent too much time with the deputy to know where that was going. “I swear to god, if you say-“

“Race me.”

As he’d expected. Kent shook his head at Reed's firm request. “Really. We’re tracking down a fucking outlaw, and that’s your priority right now.”

Reed smirked and pulled Hellfire in front of Mara. He trotted him in large circles around Kent and Mara and began to tease, “oh, so you’re still afraid of losing? How saddening. After all the times we’ve raced, you should be over your silly little fear.“

“Reaching that conclusion again, are you? I’m not afraid of anything, deputy,” Kent lied calmly. He added, “there’s no point in tiring our horses out that fast.”

“It’s so fucking _boring_ on this stretch, we’ll get through it faster,” Reed complained.

Kent held his ground. “No. It’ll tire out the horses.”

“I’m sure they’re as bored as we are. They need to stretch their legs more than this.”

“Still a no. They’re keeping a good pace.”

“Christ, you’re so slab-sided. Live a little, Allen. Besides, we’ll pursue that lead faster,” Reed pointed out.

Reed was right, though Kent would never give him the satisfaction and outright say that. Instead, he protested, “there’s nothing out here. What would we even use for a finish marker?”

“Simple. When the road bends again,” Reed lined Hellfire alongside Mara.

“We’ll win,” Kent stated.

“You’ll lose.” Reed said gleefully, “and… go!”

They kicked their horses forward at the same time; the animals all too happy to be able to run like the wind.

Kent kept Mara slightly behind Hellfire, looking out for the bend in the road as the horses sped along. When they began to race down a small grade, he saw it come into view, distant but clear.

He let Reed stay slightly ahead of him until the final stretch, when he kicked Mara forward into her unrelenting sprint. Over the whistling of the wind, he could hear Reed shout as he kicked Hellfire forward, desperate to catch up to where Kent now was.

Kent was, once more, the victor as they turned their horses with the curve of the road and slowed them down to a walk.

Reed steered Hellfire next to Mara again, and the two horses’ strides matched up again. “We’ll get you one of these days, old man,” he grumbled, scratching at Hellfire’s shoulder.

“You have a fighting chance, now that you show basic human decency towards your horse,” Kent remarked, patting Mara’s neck.

Reed frowned but rolled his shoulders back and faced forward again. “Yeah, well, it helps that he listens when I’m trying to do my damn job.” He glanced around inquisitively. “Will you look at that. We’re not far.”

“We should split up when we get there. Cover more possible leads.” Kent contemplated as his thoughts changed back to the pressing task at hand.

Reed nodded. “I’ll ask around town.”

“I’ll do the homesteads, then.”

“Meet back by the stage station when we’re done?”

“Fine by me,” Kent agreed.

He began to further understand why Fowler chose them as a duo.

The process of riding amongst the various sprawling homesteads of Virginia Dale and questioning everyone from the ranch owners to the various ranch hands took Kent a few hours. It was a repeating cycle: dismount, walk around the various houses, barns, and pastures only to mainly get responses of “no, haven’t seen him,” that ranged from polite to discrediting, walk back to Mara, ride on to the next set of potential witnesses. That phase of bounty hunting never failed to remind him of his lawman days and the different civilians he had interacted with. He’d never missed it.

As he reached the last group of people to question, a homesteader and his wife mentioned they’d seen from their home a traveler that resembled Murphy headed south, on the road he and Reed had used to travel to Virginia Dale. Two more ranch hands, who had been repairing pasture fences alongside the road, had taken a close look at the sketch Kent had shown them and said that it looked like him. Though they proceeded to add that the man had rode by so quick they didn’t see too much of his features, it was better than nothing to have four people most likely see him and universally claim he was headed in a consistent direction.

When Kent rode up to the stagecoach station, Reed was already there. He paced by Hellfire in a patch of grass with his arms crossed and frowned into the distance.

Kent stopped in front of him, and Reed paused to look up at him thoughtfully.

“Well? You learn of anything?” Kent asked.

“The barber shop and general store owners said they saw him pass through. That he was peculiar looking. A few residents who were along here yesterday morning said pretty much the same thing.”

“Heading south?”

“Yeah,” Reed swiftly remounted Hellfire and groused, “why couldn’t they have specified that shit in the telegram?”

“Must’ve been in a hurry to get the information out.”

“And now we’ve wasted valuable time,” Reed added through gritted teeth. He began to canter Hellfire back the way they came.

“It’s a fading trail, but at least we have one,” Kent reminded both Reed and him as Mara caught up. It wasn’t the oldest trail he’d dealt with, but the fact they’d unintentionally doubled back from Murphy frustrated him as well.

“Livermore had better hold some answers,” Reed grumbled.

The ride back south to the next town, Livermore, took only an hour with the swifter paces of their horses.

By the time Kent was done with another round of questioning even more homesteaders and residents in the tiny settlement and surrounding area, it was well past sunset, and he was tense. A few residents had told him that they saw someone like him around, but when they tried to tell him the approximate time he had showed up and what direction he was headed, their comments either contradicted or they didn’t recall which way he went at all.

He waited for deputy Reed in front of the general store, and the man’s face was notably sourer when he rode up.

“Fuckin’ hell. People say they saw him, but nothing’s consistent.”

“Same here,” Kent pulled out his pocket watch and cursed at how much time that traveling and questioning had taken up. “Dammit, it’s late. Almost midnight.”

“Fuck!” Reed hissed.

“Any other areas we can question?”

“There’s more ranches and buildings east of the hills,” Reed turned on his heel and walked back up to Hellfire.

“The hell are you doing?” Kent questioned roughly, his voice beginning to show strain from the long day.

“Going east.”

“It’s getting close to midnight deputy, who the hell are you going to question?”

Reed paused with his foot in one stirrup, and he turned to glare back at him. “Our trail is actual shit, and I’m not letting that bastard slip through my fingers.”

Kent hated to say it, aggravated as he was at their lack of a clear trail as well. But he had to be reasonable. “It’ll be a waste of time trying to find a trail everywhere we look. We’re better off waiting until morning, when we can start questioning again.”

“Do you not see the stakes?!” Reed exasperated as he swung his leg over Hellfire’s back and readied himself to ride. “Get with it, our leads are fucking awful!”

“I’m aware,” Kent tersely responded, “I’ve dealt with bounties like this before. We’re reliant on witnesses right now, and it’s too late. If we keep questioning this late, we’ll risk getting shot by some trigger-happy ranch hand mistaking us for rustlers.”

Reed persisted, livid. “Murphy could be out of our hands by now, Allen! Don’t you get that?!”

“You think I don’t know that?!” Kent snapped, stressed and tired of hiding his annoyance towards Reed’s attitude. “We can pick up the trail again tomorrow, deputy. Maybe there are more witnesses around who can give us a better idea. But not tonight. We need to rest. And there’s no way in hell I’m dying because I got shot over a misunderstanding.”

Reed still wasn’t convinced. “Murphy’s ahead by a _day_ -“

“Reed, you dumbass,” Kent exasperated, “even outlaws on the run have to rest. Unless he wants to get sloppy and leave a trail of horses worked to death for us; or make some dumb mistake because his senses have gone to shit. Do _you_ want your senses to go to shit because you wouldn’t sit down for a fucking second?”

Reed scowled at him for a few moments, before he rode Hellfire away. “We’re still going to head east. There’s an overhang that I’ve camped at before,” he called back defiantly as Hellfire trotted down the street.

Kent followed him.

They found a place alongside the sharp drop to the gulch below, where the bushes cleared away and there was plenty of space for their bedrolls and horses. The hills beyond the gulch were barely visible in the dim starlight and moonlight, merely silhouettes that towered.

With how quiet the still night air was, Kent gazed up at the sky, daunted as always by the seemingly endless number of stars in an area this quiet.

From across the firelight, Reed stifled a yawn, “we shouldn’t both sleep at once.”

“Agreed. One should keep watch. I’ll go first,” Kent forcefully volunteered.

“Oh no you won’t. I’ll keep watch first,” Reed insisted.

“Go to sleep, deputy. You’re clearly tired.”

“Just a trick of your sleep-deprived mind,” he teased lazily, “besides, you’re the one who suggested we pull aside and rest. Go to sleep, old man.”

That was, annoyingly, true. He had begun to feel the exhaustion of the day now that finding Murphy wasn’t an immediate necessity. But he didn’t feel like sleeping yet. “No. You should sleep.”

“No.”

“Reed, relax. We’ll get a better trail in the morning. With two of us covering more ground, we’re bound to find something to move forward with.” Though it was mainly a reminder to the still unwavering deputy, it was to reassure himself as well.

“We’d better. No way in hell I’m going back to Fowler empty-handed.”

“I’m not either.”

Reed yawned loudly but stayed seated up.

“Reed. Go to sleep. Now.” Kent ordered tiredly.

The deputy glowered defiantly back at him. “No.”

Kent massaged his temple. Through gritted teeth, he said, increasingly frustrated: “Reed, I swear to god. Do you _want_ us to go back to Fowler empty-handed because we stayed up all night arguing over who should sleep first? I’m not going to let bullshit like that tarnish my career.”

“Of course not.”

“Then just _go the fuck to sleep_. I’ll keep watch first. We’ll catch on to a better trail in the morning. We’ll find something. Only if we’re not totally sleep-deprived.”

Reed scowled at him but sighed and laid back on his bedroll. He closed his eyes and muttered, “we’d better, bounty hunter.”

“We will, deputy,” Kent stated firmly.

At least, that’s what he hoped.


	7. Murphy: Day Two

By the time the sun rose over the horizon and the landscape was painted gold, Kent was fully alert. After successfully readying the horses, despite Hellfire’s obstinance and half-hearted nips at being forced out of his sleep, he began to shave using the small mirror he always carried in his saddlebag.

He didn’t hear deputy Reed stir on his bedroll, but the faint “you goddamn city slicker” caught his attention and made him pull the razor away from his chin.

Kent looked back at him and questioned testily: “what was that?”

Reed stretched out his back and stood up slowly. “You’re in fuck-all nowhere Larimer County, not Chicago or some shit. Who’re you trying to impress? A homesteader’s wife?”

Kent glared at him but turned back to his mirror to get the last spot under his chin. He brusquely informed him: “it’s a habit, deputy. And I’m not wasting any time.”

“You are now that I’m awake,” Reed prodded groggily as he began the process of rolling up his bedroll.

“I’m ready to go, unlike you. If you were more aware of your surroundings, you’d see I already tacked up the horses,” Kent explained defensively, gesturing with the mirror to where Mara and Hellfire stood. He put away the razor and mirror, wiped away the remaining specks of shaving cream on his face and chest and continued getting dressed.

“I’m going to ride out northeast. Question civilians over there,” Reed declared as he loaded the last of their supplies back onto Hellfire.

While Kent adjusted his tie, he replied, “I’ll go head back west past Livermore. Cover more land that way.”

Reed gave him a curt nod. “We’ll just meet back at the general store again,” he decided. He swiftly mounted Hellfire and began to canter along the overhang, before Kent could get a chance to answer aloud.

“…fine by me.” Kent muttered to the dispersing cloud of dust left in his wake. He patted down his hair, placed his black hat on carefully, and set off on horseback towards the towering mountains.

The ride out into the rolling hills at the base of the mountains proved to be an immense waste of time. There wasn’t a single lead or person who as much as might have seen Murphy in the more remote area, and by the time the last person was questioned Kent felt like a goddamn idiot for traveling all the way out there. He ground his teeth while he rode back into Livermore in the afternoon. As promised, Reed waited for him by the general store, almost blended in as he stood next to his horse with his coat on. His arms were crossed, and he glared intensely at nothing and everything.

Kent had barely stopped his horse when Reed growled, “well so much for a new fucking trail. I talked to everyone I could, and there were no leads.”

“It was the same for me.”

Reed’s expression grew colder. “Well good job, old man-“

Rage welled up, and he didn’t bother trying to suppress it this time. “Don’t you put that shit on me, deputy!” Kent shouted defensively. Reed’s nose scrunched up in the beginning of a snarl as Kent continued scathingly, “we’re both at fault for that. And we were going off a vague source to begin with.”

After a few seconds, the snarl went away, and the deputy nodded gruffly in reluctant agreement. “Well, I’m not giving up. Not while some murderous bastard’s running around my county.”

“I’m not walking away either,” Kent stated decisively. He loathed to have bounties slip through his fingers. Though rare, it still occasionally happened; when it did, he detested both his own limitations and the target themselves for some time after. The worst of his anger only ended once the reward money from another target was in his hands.

Reed remounted Hellfire. “There’s a tiny set of buildings 12 miles southeast of here. Hardly counts as a town.”

“Lead the way.”

The main street of the set of buildings named Wellington was abuzz with small crowds as they rode closer, and Kent’s senses were immediately on alert.

They carefully maneuvered their horses to avoid the various residents as they rode through. Some of them sobbed quietly while others sullenly conversed. The townspeople watched the duo, and a few whispered amongst themselves.

“My god, what the hell happened?” Reed asked the residents, voice heightened from shock and distress. Kent looked over at the worn-down doctor’s office and the figures shrouded in cloth under its eaves.

Kent was no stranger to crime scenes and bodies. He’d seen his fair share through his careers and had largely grown desensitized and composed, able to prepare himself for the grimness of the sights and smells beforehand. But this was one of the occasional times that he wasn’t prepared. The covered bodies, the clear blood stains that painted the dirt not far from Mara’s hooves and the broken sobs of shocked and mourning citizens began to cloud his mind and senses with distant but clear memories of the smell of blood, the cacophony of gunfire, and the unforgiving cold. It took him a few moments longer than usual to start to bring himself back to the present, away from his recollections. He internally repeated his usual lines: that it wasn’t his reality, that it was long in the past, that he was okay.

When he started to focus back on his surroundings, Kent heard a man chime in by Mara, bewildered: “…don’t even know who the hell he was.”

When he pulled out the sketch from his interior pocket, the scrape of the paper against his fingers grounded him a bit further. Kent stretched over and showed it to the man, “was that him?”

The man squinted at it, mustache twitching. After a few moments, he nodded. “Yeah. Looks like him.”

Kent’s heart lurched. When he looked up, he saw Reed shared his sentiments and stared back, wide-eyed.

“How’d you describe him?” Reed brusquely asked the residents that stood near him.

“Tall.” One replied.

“Thinly built, practically underweight.” Another added.

“His eyes looked dark, but I barely got a look before… before I dove for cover.” A tearful woman explained as her voice broke.

“His horse was a palomino.”

“Which way was he headed?” Reed asked impatiently.

“West.”

“Yeah… west.” The woman affirmed.

Reed trotted Hellfire away from the crowd and raced away on the road headed west. “Allen, get a fuckin’ move on!” he shouted.

Kent silently acknowledged the crowds, trotted through, and galloped after him as the adrenaline of the newer trail coursed through his veins.

When he caught up, Reed declared over the stampede of their horses’ hooves, “we’ll keep askin’ anyone we see along this route. He must’ve passed through not long ago.”

They pulled over at a ranch, and Reed barked at a startled ranch hand, “hey! You see a tall man ride by on a palomino recently?”

“Uh, yeah. Seemed to be-“

“Which way did he go?” Reed interrupted.

“Left at the fork.”

“Left? The fuck is he doin’?” Reed growled to himself as he kicked Hellfire back into a gallop.

They made it down to the junction to Fort Collins. More homeowners and a stagecoach driver confirmed to an increasingly impatient Reed that someone like the outlaw had continued west, through LaPorte.

The residents of LaPorte, too, described a thin man on a palomino horse wearing a light brown jacket. They were unable to finish their sentences before Reed took off yet again and Kent swiftly followed.

The trail turned north and continued into the mountains. A few travelers and ranchers along the way claimed they saw what had to be Gregor Murphy, all of a few hours before the duo had screeched to a halt in front of them. Kent’s adrenaline kept up.

As they made their way up the mountain road that followed the side of a river, Kent finally felt the thrill of the regained trail and the proximity to Murphy wear off.

“Reed,” he called over.

“What?”

“We should slow the horses down.”

Both Mara and Hellfire snorted fiercely as they cantered, their outstanding endurance finally stretched thin by the extensive high speeds of the chase.

“No.” Reed refused, “we’re so fucking _close_ -“

“We’re on a good trail, we’ve gone far. We can slow down for a spell now, let ourselves and the horses rest,” Kent could feel Mara’s stride had shortened, and her steps seemed to wobble slightly.

“Fuck no. This is a good trail.”

“Reed. Slow Hellfire down. You can’t hunt Murphy down if Hellfire becomes buzzard bait.” Kent pressed, using his most authoritative lawman tone.

“I’m not-“

Kent steered Mara as close as she could get to Hellfire. His leg almost brushed against Reed’s.

“What the fuck are you-?” Reed began to ask as Kent grabbed the reins right below Reed’s hands. He pulled back Hellfire and Mara and ordered to both horses: “easy!”

Both horses complied, snorting rapidly, their sides heaving.

Kent let go and steered Mara back away. “I’m not going back to Fowler empty handed because you returned to being a negligent asshole, deputy.”

Reed frowned at him but kept Hellfire at the walk.

They pulled over onto the gravelly shore of the river and dismounted. Kent settled on a boulder and ate some jerky; having realized how weak from hunger he had become during their extensive ride after his legs almost gave out when he dismounted.

“Are there any towns up this way?” Kent asked.

“Next one’s in around 20 miles. There’s some homesteads and cabins along here, but not much.”

“…shit,” Kent cursed. That was by no means ideal for leads.

The ride to Rustic wound alongside the river as they climbed in elevation, shadowed by towering rocks and dry hills adorned with boulders.

They encountered barely any other travelers or humans. The travelers never confidently said they saw Murphy, but one cabin owner described a man of Murphy’s frame riding by earlier, and they continued along the road, knowing their trail was as good as any.

As they neared Rustic and entered a widening valley, they pulled over at one small cabin, nestled in a meadow near the river.

Kent waited on Mara near the front porch of the house while Reed dismounted and walked up to the front door. He barely knocked on the door before it swung open and Reed was yanked in, shouting, “hey, watch it asshole! I’m a sheriff’s deputy!”

His nerves jolted and he walked Mara closer to the home. He shrugged his repeater off his back and into his shaking hands, taking deep, even breaths. Kent internally cursed at his unsteady grip.

From inside, he heard a man growl, “I don’t give a fuck who you are, you stay off my property!”

Reed was shoved back out onto the porch, roughly falling onto his back. The man charged out of the door onto the porch, a shotgun aimed down at Reed’s face as he tried to sit up. The deputy froze.

Rage coursed through Kent at the sight, and he couldn’t keep a neutral professionality even if he tried. He raised his repeater in practiced swiftness, looking down the sights at the man and shouting furiously: “Put the fucking shotgun down!”

The man took notice of Kent and scowled at him. “Fuck off, this isn’t your business.”

“It is. You so much as touch him and you’re a dead man,” Kent snarled, keeping his aim at the man’s chest, right above his heart. The repeater had the slightest tremor to it, and Kent hoped the man wouldn’t see.

“You fuckin’ intruders,” the man groused, tapping Reed’s forehead with the shotgun’s barrel. Kent’s finger itched to pull the trigger, but he reminded himself that if he gave in to the temptation of carrying out his threat, Reed could die.

“I’m a lawman, not some fuckin’ home invader.” Reed said angrily.

“Back away from the deputy. _Now_.” Kent barked at the man. The man glared at him, but his eyes glanced between Kent and Reed, clearly contemplating. After a few tense moments, he backed up a few steps, the weapon still aimed at Reed’s face. “Now don’t move,” he ordered. The cabin owner complied.

He turned his attention to Reed, ordering with no aggression: “deputy, _slowly_ put your hands up and move away from him.”

Reed obeyed without any comments, to Kent’s immense relief.

“Slowly stand up and back up towards my voice, deputy. Watch the steps behind you,” Kent ordered more gently.

The man kept his shotgun aimed at Reed’s face but didn’t move as the lawman got back to his feet, his hands still up.

As Reed began to move backwards down the steps, his boots tentatively feeling out where to tread, the man sneered, “yeah, run back to your friend you coward.”

“You mother-“ Reed roared, tensing up.

“Reed, don’t do it!” Kent loathed the way he faltered as he shouted it, revealing his fear. “Back up towards me. He’s not worth it.”

Deputy Reed stayed quiet and continued to back up, out of the dangerous range of the shotgun. Kent kept his aim trained on the homeowner, just in case he pulled any stunts.

The homeowner didn’t; instead he watched the men with clear scorn. Reed stopped stepping back right before he bumped into Mara, his back pressed against the toe of Kent’s boot.

“You okay?” Kent asked, trying to keep his voice neutral. He was tempted to steal a glance at Reed, but he kept his focus on the homeowner.

“Fine.” Reed replied wearily.

“Get to Hellfire, quick,” Kent whispered, and Reed didn’t hesitate, walking swiftly over to Hellfire and mounting the horse. He rode out and away from the homeowner. Kent steered Mara away with his legs, keeping his repeater aimed at the owner until they were well away from the house. He put away the gun and raced Mara to catch up with Reed when the homeowner didn’t follow them, his figure an irrelevant shape in the distance.

They trotted their horses side by side in silence for a few minutes. Kent felt the fury and unease from earlier begin to fade away.

“Nice bossin’ around back there, Allen,” Reed broke the silence, his words devoid of any sarcasm, “saved me some buckshot to the face.”

A month ago, Kent couldn’t have imagined he’d ever receive an actual, if not backhanded, compliment from Reed. But now with Reed’s unique version of sincerity, he felt a sense of gratitude. “Thanks,” Kent muttered. As casually as he could, he asked, “he didn’t get you too bad with the barrel, did he?”

“No. Barely touched me. I’ve had way worse.”

“Good. What an asshole.”

“Those ones are the worst,” Reed replied with a huff. “God forbid I try and do my job.”

Rustic was tiny, and they set off together to question the few residents and businessowners there as the evening progressed. The general store manager and two different, more cooperative homeowners eyed the sketch Kent and Reed showed them. They listened to Kent’s more patient descriptions, and their eyes widened as they told the duo that they did, in fact, see him earlier that day. Around the afternoon, racing north.

By the time they were done questioning and making note of observations, the sun was mostly set, and they stepped back into the hotel.

The manager naturally recognized them, having been questioned earlier. “Oh, are you two gentlemen going to stay the night?”

“Yeah. Got two rooms?” Reed replied.

“Only one is vacant, I’m afraid. One bed in it. It’d fit the both of you, though.”

Kent felt his face heat up a bit at the manager’s words, and he had to look away from Reed. It wouldn’t be the end of the world sharing a bed with the deputy. Hell, it wasn’t unheard of for travelers to do so if it was the only option. But still, the idea made him feel strange. Nervous, even. A fucking bounty hunter, nervous over something like that. What the hell was he thinking?

But the thought of sleeping in an actual bed before they continued deeper into the remote mountains sounded pleasant, and he knew his back and limbs would be less uncomfortable the next day. And neither of them would have to lose sleep watching out for trouble.

Reed spoke up before Kent got the chance to. “We’ll, uh, we’ll take it.” The usually arrogant man sounded so uncertain in that moment.

“Great,” the manager replied with a polite nod.

“I can cover it,” Kent told him, beginning to gather some of the money stored in his pocket.

“No. I’ll pay,” Reed insisted. He stretched out his hand to barricade him from handing the money over.

Kent looked over at him. “Reed. Seriously. It’s no problem.”

“Relax, Allen, I’ll do it,” Reed’s tone grew defensive.

The manager sighed, and asked, “why don’t you two just split it in half?”

Kent and Reed looked at each other. Reed nodded slightly and turned back to the manager. “Alright, fine.”

Once they both handed the money over, the manager pulled a key out of the drawer and guided them up the staircase, “you two will have a fine view of the river and Rockies.”

Kent looked out the window once they had brought their tack and supplies into the room; able to take the less common opportunity of eyeing his surroundings just for the sake of observing. Though the Rockies were barely visible, he could see the massive shadows cutting into the night sky, and the stars that already glittered behind them.

“Not bad,” he muttered.

The floorboards creaked, and Reed stopped next to him. “That view ain’t shit right now, old man. Just wait until it’s daytime.”

“I know. I’ve seen the Rockies before up close… just not in this area. Barely get to appreciate the views when I’m chasing down bounties,” he remarked. He stopped himself from reflecting more. “…anyway. We should go to sleep soon. Get an early start heading north.”

“Yeah,” Reed agreed. His voice grew stiff again and he broke his eye contact with Kent when he asked, “you, uh, want the left or right side?”

Kent shrugged and replied quietly, “doesn’t matter.” As his cheeks warmed up again, he felt grateful that Reed wasn’t looking at him.

They dressed down once the lights were out and settled on opposite sides of the bed, as far away from each other as they could. He couldn’t bring himself to so much as glance over at Reed as he laid there, his limbs as compressed together as they could be. Just as he had at the front desk, he felt uncharacteristically unnerved at sharing a bed with his sort-of friend. But even then, part of him found a thrill in being so close to Reed and wished he could be closer. Though he reminded himself how unprofessional that was, the feeling persisted.

Kent faced towards the window; the moonlight noticeable even when he closed his eyes. He covered his eyes with his arm and began to try to fall asleep, but he couldn’t.

He thought back to his reaction to Reed being threatened earlier that day, the way his hands shook as emotions got the best of him; a hindrance that he’d never experienced with acquaintances in previous bounty hunting journeys. The concern that had coldly ran through him whenever the deputy fell off his horse. The way he’d felt when their teasing and arguing lost its bite and became more playful. How light his chest had become when Reed used his name for the first time, even if it had only been his surname.

He realized that they were all fueled by something more than just a strange friendship and professional bond. And he dreaded it.

Kent listened to Reed’s even breaths, despite his efforts to ignore him. Though he wanted to think otherwise, to make his life about bounty hunting and fending for himself again, he knew better. His interactions with Reed were no longer driven by a reluctant obligation to a man who had likely saved his life two times, even when he’d carried some sort of grudge against him.

The deputy just flat out intrigued Kent at this point. More than intrigued. He-

He couldn’t bring himself to finish that thought. There was were various words for it, but he froze up at the idea of truly connecting any of them to Reed. The deputy would be disgusted if he knew some old bachelor, let alone a man in such a dangerous, ever-changing line of work felt that way towards him. He was basically friends with Reed, and he couldn’t let anything risk compromising their companionship.

Reed had somehow gone from being an insufferable thorn in his side to a surprisingly effective, still occasionally insufferable partner to someone he cared about immensely, even when he was being insufferable. And his intensified feelings for the deputy were a secret he was resigned to carry to his grave.


	8. Murphy: Day Three

He woke up as the peaks of the Rockies were painted gold. Upon instinctively searching for Reed, he found the deputy still fast asleep on the other side of the bed.

Though he felt better rested than the previous nights, the recollection of another routine nightmare played through his mind. The gunfire, the cold, a sense of helplessness and imminent death. Somehow, he also had a memory of Reed’s arm wrapped around him, his voice unusually soft. It was such a haze, he wasn’t sure if he’d dreamt it as well or it had truly happened.

Kent watched Reed for a few moments too long after he’d quietly shaved and gotten dressed. He couldn’t help but notice how his commonplace pout softened in his sleep. It was endearing, and Kent internally kicked himself for thinking of it that way.

To distract himself from what may or may not have happened the night before, he snuck out the door and down to where Mara and Hellfire were stabled, behind the hotel and near the riverside.

He fed them a mushy apple, brushed their coats and picked the debris from their hooves. Tending to the horses allowed him to leave his thoughts about Reed behind; but a few minutes after he started to brush out Mara’s wind knotted mane the deputy sought him out.

“There you are, Kent-“ Reed started to exclaim, relief tempering his voice. He stopped himself short and clamped his mouth shut.

Kent paused in the middle of working at an uncompromising tangle, unable to ignore the jolt in his heart at his first name being used.

Reed tried to backtrack what he said when Kent turned around to glance at him in silent question. His head was angled down and partially concealed by the brim of his hat as he cursed, “shit! Allen, I meant Allen-“

Kent looked down too, the comfortable shade of his hat blocking his face. He cleared his throat, flustered and unwilling to display how heated up his face was. Roughly, he replied “no, no, it’s fine. Just use Kent.” He turned away to comb furiously at the clump of horsehair, waiting apprehensively for Reed’s response.

Reed seemed to have said his first name warmer than anything before, and Kent already wanted to hear the way his shortened first name rolled off the deputy’s tongue again, attempts to throw aside feelings be damned.

Tentatively, Reed told him, “only if you use Gavin for me.”

Kent kept himself turned towards Mara and smiled despite himself as he finished combing out the horsehair. “Deal… Gavin.”

It was a strange new territory using Reed’s first name, but he looked forward to being on a first name basis with him, even if it did the total opposite of diminishing his feelings.

In no time they were saddled up and riding north, further into the wilderness and towards the tiny civilization named Manhattan.

“Manhattan,” Kent remarked as their horses trotted single file along the road, “who the hell names a mining town that?”

Gavin scoffed and answered, “fuckin’ tryhards. They’ve been shit out of luck from what I’ve seen and heard. Don’t be surprised if they’re godawful when a lawman and bounty hunter show up.”

“I never am.”

Their horses walked onto the main street of the line of buildings, and the various, grungy miners stopped and stared at both Gavin and Kent. Given Gavin’s badge and Kent’s more sophisticated attire, they stuck out like sore thumbs.

The miners who milled about the cabins and few businesses were largely dismissive of Kent and Gavin’s questions, more than eager for the two strangers to leave their sights. Kent regarded their attitudes as a mixture of disdain towards the law and an unwillingness to cooperate, and a shared look with Gavin confirmed he wasn’t alone in that thought.

They came across a lone miner towards the edge of the buildings. “Hey, you seen this man passing through on a palomino horse?” Gavin asked yet again. He pulled out the sketch and showed it to the man.

The stout, bearded miner’s eyes lit up, and he turned around and pointed north. Kent was beyond relieved to have a more agreeable person _finally_ provide a lead.

He was let down once again when the miner began to speak in a heavy drawl, “he was ary atween that there dive or where the big bug hit pay dirt a ways an’ the patches. Really was on the dodge and lettin’ drive.”

He and Gavin exchanged looks. Gavin looked as lost as he felt. Kent turned back to the miner and asked, “which claim?”

The miner shrugged and pointed in the same direction.

“…thanks.” Gavin acknowledged hesitantly, and he set off towards where the miner had pointed at.

Kent caught up to him, baffled by the miner’s vocabulary. “What the blazes was he saying?” He asked.

“Somethin’ about between their so-called saloon and a claim.…just our luck.”

“Still a trail, nonetheless.” Kent remarked, despite his disappointment at the miner’s incoherent directions.

They were at their fourth claim, along where the incomprehensible miner directed them for potential witnesses, when suspicious activity truly started to arise.

Alongside the creek, three miners leaned against a wall of boulders. The second they saw Gavin and Kent ride up, they began to whisper amongst themselves and avoid eye contact, fidgeting far more than an inconspicuous citizen would ever do.

They stopped their horses, dismounted, and walked up closer to the men.

Gavin wasted no time. “You guys seen a man, spindly with a light brown coat on a palomino horse travel by?”

The miners looked at each other from the corners of their eyes for a little too long. The middle one, a portly red head, responded with a drawn out, “…no.”

Kent almost laughed over how ridiculously obvious they were being. He’d seen this behavior more than enough times both as a bounty hunter and a lawman. “Really?” he questioned dryly.

“That ain’t none of your business, ya _priss_ ,” the miner drawled. Kent ground his teeth, greatly tempted to break his stoicism and throw an insult back.

Gavin did so for him. “Shut your damn mouth!” He snapped. “He’s a bounty hunter, it is his business. And that’s bosh. You saw him, Gregor Murphy, didn’t ya?”

The miner’s mouth clenched shut. The other two shifted uncomfortably and glanced everywhere but at Kent and Gavin.

“Well, your jig is up. Y’all fuckin’ suck at lying,” Gavin declared. “All three of you saw Murphy-“ the redhead began to step away. Gavin quickly drew his pistol, ordering, “-and _none_ of you are leaving until you fess up to us.”

Kent strode forward authoritatively, eyes locking with Gavin’s. Gavin gave him a nod of approval before he resumed his glare at the trio, pistol aimed. The three men watched Kent with thinly veiled displeasure as he stepped up right in front of them. He felt refreshed at the chance to use his interrogating skills again even if, as it pained him to think, they were likely rusty.

Despite the fact one of them towered above himself and Gavin, he still got close to their faces, growling slowly, “ _none_ of you are leaving here until someone fesses up. Unless you want us to detain all three of you?”

The men didn’t respond.

“All three of you are going to leave your precious claims behind for _this_? Because you saw a goddamn outlaw and didn’t want to answer a lawman’s simple question?” He interrogated tersely.

They stayed silent. Kent paced in front of them.

“All three of you saw Murphy,” he declared. “You’re liars. And we know it. So just fucking _say it_. Or all three of you are in for a long ride to jail.”

The tall, pock-marked miner on the right had glared at Kent consistently since they’d arrived. When Kent stepped by again, he snarled, “shut your fuckin’ mouth, you have no authority-“

“He does,” Gavin interrupted impatiently.

Several more moments of silence passed, and Kent’s patience largely disappeared. “ _Say it!_ ” he shouted at the three men, “ _say you fucking saw Murphy!_ ”

He began to step into the space of the redhead, whose expression held the wide-eyed vulnerability of fear. Kent sized him up and readied himself to shout again. Before he got the chance to intimidate him into compliance, the tall miner pushed his shoulder and Kent lost his balance.

He heard Gavin shout “you motherfucker!” as he raised his arms to block, but the miner was swifter and succeeded in punching him clear across the face, striking his nose in the process. Kent stumbled backwards, his nose and cheek on fire, rage coursing through his veins.

Kent regained his balance despite how his head spun. Before the growl in his throat got too loud and he could lunge at the miner, Gavin moved past Kent and grabbed the miner’s collar, pulling him down to his height. He pointed the pistol at his head and roared “you’ll fucking _rot_.”

Kent aimed his repeater at the other two miners, keeping it well out of range from Gavin. Blood tickled at his nose and ran down his chin, and he began to taste the metallic tang of it.

Gavin shook the collar of the miner, and shouted “ _you better fuckin’ talk you piece of-_ “

The miner, at this point, was trembling from more than Gavin’s furious shaking, and he finally confessed in a rush of words, “he told us not to.”

Gavin stopped. “Murphy silenced you?” he asked flatly.

“He- he gave us valuables,” the middle miner explained, eyes fixated on the barrel of Kent’s repeater.

Kent turned his head away to spit out the accumulating blood. “What kind of valuables?” he interrogated.

“Jewelry,” the quiet blond on the left stated.

“Fuck,” Gavin muttered, and he let the confrontational miner go. He extended out the palm of his free hand and jabbed it at his chest. “Hand it over.”

“Hell no,” the tall miner defied, “we’ll get a fortune for that shit, more than this fuckin’ mine will ever give-“

“And you’ll go to jail because of possessing stolen property. Knowingly.” Kent pointed out, irritated at his greed.

The man frowned, but spat, “fuck you. Fine.”

“Any funny moves and I’ll shoot you,” Gavin threatened, holding his pistol by his hip. After the miner jammed his hands into his pockets and dropped a glistening tangle of silver and gold chains onto Gavin’s palm, the deputy asked, “now, when did he ride through?”

“Last night, when we were cleanin’ up,” the blonde answered.

“Which direction did he go?”

“North. Said he was going to camp not far from here. He didn’t want to be followed.”

“Did he say where he was heading to next?”

“Just north, into the mountains.”

Kent kept his aim trained on each man as Gavin gathered the assortment of jewelry from them. His head started to feel light, and he tightened his grip to try and ward it off.

Gavin walked away from the three men once the jewelry was gathered, and Kent backed away from them, repeater still aimed. The miners watched the duo with disdain but stayed put.

When they made it back to their horses, his arms were relieved to not hold up the repeater any longer. Though he hated doing so, he slumped against a tree where the miners couldn’t see him as his legs and head felt weak. Kent plugged his nose and regretted that he had to hold off so long on addressing it.

After a few minutes, Gavin spoke up with a hint of impatience from a few trees over. “What’re you waiting for?”

“Just give me a second,” Kent replied nasally.

Gavin led Hellfire closer to Kent and watched him with unveiled concern. “Hey, don’t you die until after we get Murphy.”

Kent waved him away weakly with his free hand. “I’m fine, jackass.”

“Lost some blood, huh?”

Kent nodded, annoyed again at the miner that punched him. “Assholes stole my attention for too long. At least it’s not broken.” He took his fingers away from his nose. No new blood oozed out.

After he drank water from his canteen, he began to feel better, and he wiped away what he hoped was the worst of the blood on his face with a dampened rag.

They rode north again, crossing the creek the miners had been at and riding a distance away from each other, looking out for any recent signs of activity as their horses stepped up the forested slopes.

Kent walked Mara alongside a small lake and scoured the landscape for any unusual signs. He found in the shadow of a rocky overlook and a patch of trees the charred remains of a fire; dirt haphazardly thrown on it.

He turned around and trotted Mara a way down, where he could see Hellfire and Gavin’s chestnut forms through the sparse trees. “Gavin! Come look at this!”

They both rode up near the fire remains, dismounting and looking in detail at the camp. There was little evidence left other than the fire, but when Kent hovered his hand over the dusted charcoals, he felt the faintest amount of heat rising from them.

“Could be him. It’s still smoldering a little,” Kent remarked.

Gavin paced around the trees and scanned their trunks closely. He froze and pinched his fingers to the bark of a tree. “Gold horsehair,” he gestured with his fingers towards Kent.

Kent stepped closer to look at it, and surely enough that’s what it was.

He inspected the trees nearby and found a few more wispy strands of horsehair. Another tree ahead of it had the horsehair as well. All shades of gold. Kent stayed put, pointing at the angle between the trees. “That’s the direction he went.”

Gavin began to ride Hellfire forward between the trees, the horse carefully squeezing his way through the tight space. Kent caught up to him. They cleared a hill, and below in the intermittent creek they dismounted to search for hoofprints.

Gavin took notice of the shod hooves in the softened dirt before he did, and they continued to follow it west.

“Probably didn’t want to tire his horse as fast,” Kent muttered.

“Yeah.”

The hoofprints continued northeast with the stream, before they lost the trail in a meadow. They stopped their horses where the horseshoes faded out, pointing north again.

Kent and Gavin continued along the direction after the hoofprints ended, heading up a trail that wound between towering rocks. The journey continued through another meadow, and across the shallow creek that wound through it.

After searching over the grass and softened dirt, they found signs of shod hooves that bore west, towards the shadow of a mountain. As they followed the new path, the trail disappeared and returned with the terrain changes, until it finally disappeared entirely.

It was early evening by the time they set up camp on one of the ridges at the base of Black Mountain, where they had a vantage point over the surrounding valley and hills.

Gavin was apprehensive about stopping once more, and paced back and forth along the edge, watching the forest and meadows below while Kent sat cross-legged on his bedroll, cleaning his repeater and inspecting it.

After several minutes of seeing Gavin pace in his periphery, it began to irritate Kent and draw his attention away from his routine. “Don’t waste all your energy pacing like that,” he scolded.

“We’re so close and far at the same time… god… I hate it,” Gavin groused, his arms crossed.

“We’re closer than we’ve been. Don’t forget, he has to rest too.” Kent reminded him more gently, focused on polishing the sleek metal of the barrel.

Gavin stood still and watched over the surrounding land. “Fuck it’s cold. If you start a fire, I’ll go hunt something.”

For more than one reason, Kent wasn’t fond of the idea. “Murphy could be close. What if he hears us?”

“He can’t be too close… he was hours ahead of us. And I won’t go far. Just down a ways.”

“You’re not using my repeater for that,” Kent told him defensively as he stepped by. He tightened his grip and moved the weapon closer to his chest.

Gavin laughed. “Hell no. That thing’s way too old. I have my own weapons.”

He walked over to his bedroll and rummaged through one of his saddlebags. Gavin pulled out a slingshot and a pouch that likely held ammunition.

Kent stared in surprise at the weapon. “You’re going to use a slingshot? Seriously?”

“Uh, yeah? There are no rules on what to use for hunting, Kent.”

“Fine. Use common sense. Don’t kill anything big. I’ll be waiting around,” Kent ordered detachedly. Gavin was a grown man; he could handle himself. Yet he still felt irrationally apprehensive about him wandering off.

Gavin grinned lopsidedly at him and with a “will do,” set off down the gentler slope.

Kent was glad to have something to occupy himself with while Gavin was absent. He reminded himself amid the familiar task that he shouldn’t even be feeling so intensely for another man in the first place, and that Gavin was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

As he lit a fire and kindled it, he reminded himself over and over that they were just associates who were kind of friends. Nothing more, nothing less. Kent didn’t have time for emotional attachments in his job, and neither did Gavin for that matter. He’d made it for years without this problem, why the hell was it manifesting now?

A shout echoed up from a way down the slope. Hellfire and Mara’s heads snapped up from grazing, their ears perked toward the direction of the noise.

Kent’s heart launched into his throat.

It was probably nothing. Except they were in the middle of nowhere, and it had to be Gavin. What if Murphy was down there? What if some stranger attacked him thinking he was a thief or outlaw? What if he was _dead_?

As the last of the light faded and there was still no sight of Gavin, Kent wanted to stand up, to run down to the source, but he stopped himself and mentally recited the phrases from earlier.

Gavin could handle himself. They were just associates. There’d never be anything between them. Gavin would never feel the same way. They were just friends-

He saw the top of Gavin’s brown hat and then the rest of Gavin as he slowly trekked back up, holding something over his shoulder with one hand and two sticks along with the slingshot in the other.

In that moment, he felt relief and frustration wash over him so intensely that he almost spoke his true thoughts, but he stopped himself short. With thinly veiled irritation, he said “if I go back to Fowler empty-handed because your dumb ass died hunting, I swear to fucking god-“

“Who said anything about dying while hunting?” Gavin questioned defensively. He knelt on the opposite side of the fire, pulled out a switchblade, and began to skin the carcass.

He knew that Gavin had somewhat stuck with his vague advice, since whatever he had killed was small, but there were more pressing matters for Kent to attend to. “The shout. The hell was that?”

“Nothing.” Gavin dismissed.

“You didn’t kill someone, did you?”

“Only this unfortunate rabbit,” he gestured with the knife.

Kent stared at the rabbit as he finally processed what it was. One blunt force injury to its head. “How the hell did you-“

“I’m not a city slicker, Kent,” Gavin replied smugly. “I can actually hunt, unlike those rich fucks who shoot up game for the hell of it.”

“I’m not from the city either.” Kent stated defensively. Sure, he’d been a lawman in Detroit for a good fourteen years, but he’d spent his childhood in the middle of nowhere.

“Really?” Gavin asked, peering at him with genuine curiosity.

His keen interest made Kent’s heart lurch in a way he didn’t expect. “Yeah.”

The gentler expression was replaced by his usual smugness. “You still look like one,” Gavin teased after a moment.

Kent looked down at his vest and tie to check for blood spots from earlier in the day. There were none, thankfully. “I look like I’m presentable, deputy. I’m not fancy.”

Gavin sliced up the rabbit meat and skewered it on the sticks. “Sure you aren’t. You just get up extra early to have time to shave every single morning. Like rugged mountain men do,” he sarcastically responded.

Kent scoffed at that. “Shaving doesn’t make a man fancy. Anyone can do that.” Gavin reached over and handed him one of the skewers. He took it, muttering, “…thanks.”

Gavin hummed a response and settled back; the two focused on cooking the meat.

When they were done eating, Gavin stated, “I’ll keep watch first tonight.”

Kent found himself unopposed to that, exhausted from their long day of travel both on foot and on horseback. “Fine, since you’re so insistent,” he wryly teased. He reclined back onto his bedroll and tilted his hat over his eyes to block out the firelight.

He almost didn’t believe it when he heard Gavin murmur “’night, Kent,” softly from his side of the crackling fire.

“Goodnight, Gavin,” he replied, just loud enough to carry over to where Gavin was seated.

It took forever for him to go to sleep. He’d wanted to stop his persistent thoughts over Gavin’s changed tone, his clear concern at his earlier lightheadedness, and the way he’d impulsively called Kent by his first name that morning. Yet no matter how much he tried to ignore them or think of other things: tracking down Murphy, where he’d head to after Murphy was caught, even his old life in Detroit; his attention was always drawn back to Gavin in the end.


	9. Murphy: Day Four

When Kent arose early the next morning, he sat up, stretching and groaning slightly at the soreness that had returned to his back. Gavin rested on his bedroll across the smoldering remains of the fire, slouched over while inspecting his gun. He glanced over at Kent and quickly looked back down at his gun, his expression hidden from view by his hat.

Other than Gavin’s unheated remark of “fuckin’ city slicker” as Kent quickly shaved, they readied themselves in silence. By the time the sun was up the camp was disassembled, and their horses were saddled. The duo began their ride down from the ridge they had spent the night on.

They traversed the rugged terrain around Black Mountain in their search for any evidence of Murphy, remaining a fair distance from each other to cover more land. As Kent figured would happen, they found nothing. Even the cowboys at the lone ranch nearby hadn’t seen anything.

When they rode northwest and carefully scoured Green and Iron Mountain’s safest terrain, Kent and Gavin still found nothing promising. The only hoofprints that caught their eyes were clearly from a barefooted horse, and the charcoals found on an overlook by Gavin were far too disintegrated to be from Murphy.

By late afternoon, Gavin had given up on cursing at a low volume. They’d ridden around as much of the mountains as they could and had found no recent evidence of anyone, let alone their target. The landscape was harsh for tracking down someone, especially when only two people were searching after such a quick-paced traveler. But Kent pressed onwards, and so did Gavin. The trail had been fresh yesterday, and he knew the mountainous area wouldn’t allow a horse and rider to safely cross at quicker speeds for long.

Kent trotted Mara down a forested slope east of Green Mountain, while Gavin rode on the opposite side. He noticed a couple of magpies picking away at something beside the charred remains of a fire. When he rode over the crest and Gavin saw him, he immediately raced Hellfire over, explanations unnecessary.

The magpies flew up to the trees and stared down disapprovingly as Gavin knelt and peered at what they had been eating. “Canned corn. Doesn’t look old.”

Kent held his hand over the charcoals. A heat radiated from it, stronger than the one prior. He felt a renewal of adrenaline, but it alleviated when he reminded himself there was nothing at that moment that connected it to Murphy.

He wandered around the vicinity of the fire and found a few piles of relatively fresh horse manure. Kent inspected the adjacent trees with Gavin and, upon careful inspection, found more gold horse hairs glimmering against the bark. There were even the thicker flaxen strands from a horse’s mane.

With that, the adrenaline returned in full swing. When he turned to look at Gavin, his alert eyes were already on him. They both knew it had to be Murphy’s camp.

The deputy strode away quickly. “Look for hoofprints with me. There’s a meadow over here, the ground is softer,” Gavin called him over to where the cluster of trees ended.

They treaded gently around the lush grass and dirt, until Kent found a few consistent hoofprints made by horseshoes, pointing east along the stream valley.

With that, their trail was back. The duo kept their horses at an even, slow jog as they closely watched the horse’s tracks. Sometimes they’d disappear, then return when the ground softened enough. As forks in the stream meadow occurred, he and Gavin split up to find the hoofprints and regain the trail, recongregating wherever it continued.

Within a few hours, they’d wound their way several miles southeast, away from the mountain range and declining in elevation. After such a notable, prolonged trail, the hoofprints led out of an intermittent stream bed and didn’t return. They searched the area around where the hoofprints ended numerous times and found nothing, the trail lost again. Kent walked back to Mara, frustrated.

“Fuck!” he cursed and slapped his thigh in frustration. “We had such a good trail there… and it’s just… _gone_ …” he trailed off, thinking again about the direction the hoofprints disappeared.

Gavin spoke reason that time around. “At least we can continue. The hoofprints faded heading east, over that ridge.”

“He didn’t continue on the stream after all that time…” Kent contemplated. “And he’s heading east. Away from the mountains and his plan according to the miners, assuming they weren’t still lying. He must know we’re around.”

“Probably. He’s willing to make the risk of crossing tougher terrain if it throws us off.” Gavin agreed.

Gunshots echoed over the ridge. Before the fourth and final shot rang out in close sequence to the others, Kent was already in the saddle.

“Shit!” Gavin hissed. He remounted Hellfire and took off at the gallop. “There was a trail to cross over a way back, let’s go!”

They sprinted back the way they came and started the horses up the side of the ridge. As they raced through the flattest route to the next stream valley, the horses’ hooves furiously clattered against the compacted dirt and gravel. The wind whistled in Kent’s ears, and at that point he couldn’t stop the adrenaline even if he had tried. His instincts from numerous prior bounties told him that this had to be it. Murphy was close.

Courtesy of Hellfire and Mara’s endurance and surefootedness, they made it into the valley promptly. “Gavin, hold up!” Kent ordered before he could fully race Hellfire down into the sprawling meadow.

Hellfire screeched to a halt and Gavin gave him an exasperated look. “The fuck are you stopping for?! He’s close, I can feel it-“

“I know. So do I.” He interrupted impatiently. He steered Mara off to the side and let the horse step her way up the side of a slope. “We should see if there’s anything to go off of first.”

“Be quick about it.” Gavin groused, beginning to walk Hellfire in a circle.

Mara carefully picked her way between the boulders along the ridge, until Kent decided he was at the highest point. He stopped Mara and pulled his binoculars out of his saddlebag. With them, he was able to get a better look at the stream valley in the dimming light, wherever the landscape wasn’t obscured by boulders and small hills. Kent panned his view to the right and noticed the roof of a home jutting out from behind a knoll.

Kent put away his binoculars and turned back. His horse descended her way back down the ridge, to where Gavin apprehensively waited and fidgeted with his reins. “Well?” he asked brusquely.

Kent took off into the meadow and called back: “There’s a homestead northeast of here. Not far.”

It took them no time to race the almost half mile to the ranch entrance. They slowed their horses to a walk as they passed under the entry arch.

Kent readied his repeater and glanced over the seemingly desolate homestead. If someone was here, there was no way they didn’t know about the gunshots. Either they’d heard it, or that was where it’d happened.

The front door opened. A man stepped onto the front porch, grasping a rifle. “Stop right there,” he shouted in a gravelly voice.

They complied. Gavin called out, “calm the fuck down, I’m a lawman. You see my badge? I just have a few questions.”

“Then who the hell is that barber’s clerk pointin’ his gun at me?”

Kent glared at him and clenched his teeth; his appearance mocked yet again.

“He’s a bounty hunter, you dunderhead. Put your gun down and he’ll stop aiming. Isn’t that right, Kent?”

Kent nodded curtly but kept his focus on the paranoid rancher.

The rancher propped his gun against the wall and walked onto the front steps. Kent put away his repeater.

“What were those gunshots we heard? You see anything?” Gavin asked.

“Had a trespasser,” the rancher grumbled, crossing his arms.

Kent dismounted, approached him, and showed him the sketch. “That him?”

The rancher peered at it, and his eyes widened. “I’ll be damned,” he exclaimed. “Yeah, that had to be him.”

Kent’s heart thundered. “Where’d he go?”

“Up that little intermittent stream on the right,” the rancher gestured towards the beginning of the hills behind his home.

Kent wheeled around and raced up to Mara. He leapt onto her back and kicked her forward into the canter. Gavin fell in behind him.

They temporarily stopped where there was a fork again and Kent dismounted to quickly search for hoofprints. He found them in no time, and he vaulted back into the saddle, fueled by his determination to close the remaining distance between them and Murphy.

Gavin followed him with no opposition. The horses battled their way up the rocky, forested slopes and across a plateau, where the hoofprints faded out again as they headed out of it.

“I’m going to get a better view,” Kent called over to Gavin, who only had time to slow down and look over at him before he began to ride Mara up the start of a rocky peak. The path was narrow, surrounded by steep drop-offs on either side. Kent kept his eyes forward, not daring to look away from where he was steering. For the first time in a while, he internally prayed that his horse wouldn’t misstep and send them both plummeting. Mara snorted furiously as she tried her hardest to efficiently climb. She successfully stepped her way onto the barely traversable ridge that led to the summit, and Kent reminded himself to give her plenty of treats when all was said and done. He dismounted and hurriedly climbed the rest of the way, another hundred or so feet up to the peak. His muscles burned and his sides heaved by the time he’d jogged and climbed his way to the top, but he had no time to be frustrated at his limitations.

He knelt and pulled out his binoculars as he caught his breath. Night fell, and even if his body was protesting, he would _not_ let the outlaw slip through their fingers. Not when they were so close.

His hands trembled from a mixture of exhaustion and worn adrenaline, and it took him a few glances around before he truly saw it. A faint light and column of smoke rose from the side of a rocky cliff, in an overhang.

The trek back down to Gavin was somewhat easier, and he felt his energy and determination renewed as he rode up to him. The deputy’s uneasy expression was barely visible in the faint light.

“I saw a fire. Must be him. Northeast of here, by those exposed rocks.”

Gavin’s eyes lit up. “It better be that asshole. Lead the way.”

Kent began to canter Mara out of the plateau, along the faint trail that led through the clearing of grassland and sporadic boulders. It was all that stood between them, another stream valley, and presumably Gregor Murphy. The horses’ hooves pounded quietly against the dirt, and Kent was grateful for the lighting from the stars and the bright moon. Without it, a stealthy approach would’ve been much more difficult. He stole a glance over at Gavin. The man’s jaw was set as he glared forward, completely focused.

The trail curved left, around where the terrain began to descend, and Kent slowed Mara to a walk. Gavin followed suit.

“We should ride up the side,” he explained quietly. He pointed to where a gentler slope scaled up the rocky incline. “And _slowly_. We don’t want the horses slipping up, and I don’t want him to hear us.”

Gavin nodded brusquely, and Kent steered his horse for it first, his heart quickening again. Mara slowly walked up; her head lowered to place her steps carefully.

It was a slow and focused ride to the top of the ridge, but they managed it. The smoke column in the distance faded in and out of sight against the night sky.

They rode gradually through the sparse grass, headed closer to the campfire. The vegetation softened the thuds of the horse’s hooves. Kent didn’t dare speak in case Murphy heard him through the still air, and Gavin stayed quiet as well.

When the grass began to taper off a couple hundred feet from where the overhang was, they stopped the horses, dismounted quietly, and began to ready their weapons. The unpredictability of confronting a bounty never failed to work Kent up, and he focused on evening out his quickened breath while he inspected his firearms.

Gavin moved over to him, so close that their arms brushed against each other. Though he knew it was just to keep their voices low, Kent still felt a spark of warmth in his chest at the proximity. “How are we doin’ this?” Gavin asked at barely a whisper, checking over his revolver.

Kent noted how Gavin had given up control more, but he quickly silenced the thought. “In case he’s a runner, you should sneak in from behind the boulders on the slope. I’ll cover you from up top,” Kent whispered back as he ensured his repeater was loaded. “When you see me in position, give me a signal and I’ll threaten him from overhead, then you step into his sights and do the same.”

Gavin nodded, “alright.” He began to turn and walk away, but he stopped himself and stepped back over to Kent. Though his voice was quiet, there was a weight to his words as he lectured, “you’d better remember, Fowler wants this man _alive_. Non-lethal shots exclusively, and that’s only as a last option if we know it’s him.” He blew out a sigh and added, wearily, “it’d fuckin’ better be him.”

“I’m aware.” Kent replied shortly. His professional focus temporarily diminished, and he hoped to God the task at hand went smoothly for both of them. He gently whispered “good luck” to Gavin. For once in his bounty hunting years, the phrase wasn’t forced politeness directed at temporary colleagues that were as indifferent to him as he was to them. This time, Kent meant it.

It could’ve been the dim lighting playing tricks on him, but Gavin’s expression seemed to soften as he replied, “you too, Kent.” His features steeled and he quickly left, headed slowly down the slope.

Kent felt a swell of fondness from Gavin’s response, but he had no time to dwell on it. He inhaled deeply, exhaled, and focused solely on Gregor Murphy. Gavin could handle himself. There was no place for sentiments, especially now.

The slow, hushed walk towards the edge of the small cliff felt like an eternity. Once he’d wound his way through the boulders and trees, he crouched down as he got closer to the smoke column. With the cliff debris under his boots, he crawled the rest of the way. His boots and clothing made the quietest scraping noises against the boulders, and he let his breath become shallow and controlled, just as he’d done countless times. He focused on the familiar weight of the repeater over his back, the stillness of the night air, and the precise movement of his body even though his knees and elbows ached.

When he was close, he lifted himself up to peer over the tall set of boulders that shielded him from the campfire. A tall, spindly man with a light brown coat sat on a small boulder near the fire, his back to Kent. There was no palomino horse in sight, but that detail was no longer necessary.

He turned and peered down the rocks that functioned as large, gradual steps down the small cliff. Gavin was barely visible against the rocks below him in the moonlight, his back to the rough surface. He turned around, looked up and nodded curtly at Kent.

This was it.

Swiftly and silently, he climbed up onto the rocks, took a knee at the ledge and aimed his repeater down at Murphy’s shoulder. “Hands up and step away from the fire!” He barked. Kent’s voice, deepened and menacing, echoed into the surrounding hills and rock faces. Murphy’s head shot up, and he turned to look up at him.

Gavin raised his revolver and emerged from his hiding spot. “Get your fuckin’ hands up!” he roughly ordered, aiming at Murphy.

Murphy put his hands up and backed into the open, looking back towards the fire. “Those fucking miners…” he cursed. Kent kept his aim steady and closely monitored him for any suspicious moves.

“We’ve been on you since you murdered those folks in Wellington,” Gavin sneered back. He stepped in closer to Murphy.

Kent watched as Gavin gradually closed the gap between himself and the outlaw, threatening, “don’t even think about moving.” Murphy was complying with their orders, but Kent couldn’t see his whole face where he was situated. He briefly wondered if closing him in from the other side would’ve been the better choice.

Gavin reached his hand out for Murphy’s shoulder to push him to the ground, in order to safely detain him.

Before Gavin could grab him, Murphy lurched to the side and barreled into him shoulder first. Gavin shouted and toppled back. Concern fought through Kent’s practiced indifference, and he looked at Gavin for a moment too long.

By the time Kent focused back on Murphy, he’d drawn his handgun and was facing Gavin. The deputy lunged back in with the start of a growl, enraged but still on his feet, and Murphy struck him on the head with the weapon. Gavin lost his balance with the impact. Murphy took aim and fired.

Kent’s heart paused as the barrel of the gun lit up twice in the pale light, gunshots reverberating through the landscape.

His blood ran cold at Gavin’s broken cry. Kent heard the clang of metal against stone too loudly when the revolver fell from Gavin’s hand. The deputy collapsed onto the rough gravel and rolled a way down the slope.

Gavin’s weak cry of pain echoed in his mind as cold rage took over. He swiftly aimed the repeater at Murphy’s head before the outlaw could fully turn towards him. Without another thought, Kent pulled the trigger.

The third shot echoed through the hills. Murphy fell to the ground, dead, blood pooling from his hair onto the rocks below.


	10. The Return to Livermore

The echo of gunfire hadn’t subsided when Kent shouted a strangled “Gavin!” His knees and feet ached, but it didn’t stop him from scrambling his way down the boulders to Gavin’s side, praying that he was still alive.

Gavin’s breath came in shaky gasps as Kent knelt and turned him onto his back, his body trembling against Kent’s hand. Two splotches of blood welled from his right shoulder and upper right arm, the red liquid glistening darkly in the moonlight. Kent’s heart plummeted as he whispered a broken, “no.”

This couldn’t be happening. Not to Gavin. Not when he should have kept him safe.

“You… you fuckin’...” Gavin stammered, his voice breathless and gone of any arrogance. His widened eyes glistened, and Kent could see an already-discolored bloody spot on his brow where Murphy had struck him.

“I know.” Kent replied decisively and undid his black tie. He pulled it out from under his vest and furiously sawed at it with his hunting knife. When there was enough of a split, he ripped it in half. He wrapped half of the tie over the bullet wound on Gavin’s arm. When Gavin hissed a curse and winced as he tightened it, he apologized with a soft, “I’m sorry, Gav.”

“Of all the ones to kill…” Gavin tried to scold. The sentence trailed off as his voice broke.

“That doesn’t matter right now,” Kent informed him. He tied the second tourniquet around the shoulder into a knot, with as much strength as he could muster. It was tougher due to the angle, but it had to do for the time being. “You’ll get through this,” Kent reassured him. He looked up at the slope and cliff above them, cursing under his breath when he saw how much of an upward fight it would be. Gavin and the damned corpse had to get up to the horses, and fast.

Gavin began to sit up with his left arm. He slowly tried to get to his feet, his teeth gritted as he hissed in pain. “Get that goddamn corpse and walk back with me.”

Kent wrapped his arm around Gavin’s back, his hand settling under Gavin’s right arm. He defiantly responded with, “no. I’m getting you to Mara first.”

“I can… I can ride myself to a surgeon,” Gavin informed him through clenched teeth.

“Like hell I’d let you do that.” He pulled the deputy to his feet and guided them back the way Gavin had snuck up to Murphy. “Where’s the nearest one?”

“Livermore.”

Gavin leaned against a tree while Kent hurried back down for Murphy’s corpse. The sight of it again filled him with rage. At himself, at Murphy, at the broken cry of pain the self-assured deputy had made as he collapsed. Through that rage, Kent managed to wrestle Murphy’s corpse over his shoulder. He carried it up the slope, threw it on Hellfire’s back, and quickly secured it. After he tethered Hellfire’s lead rope to his own saddle, Kent turned his attention to the deputy. When he stepped close enough, he noticed Gavin’s legs had begun to tremble.

“C’mon,” he wrapped an arm around Gavin and helped him stand upright.

Gavin insisted between shallow, shaky breaths that he was fine. But his steps were slow and weak as he was helped to Mara’s side, and Kent couldn’t ignore the chill of fear that welled up in him.

He gave Gavin a leg up to sit behind his saddle before he mounted his horse himself. Gavin wrapped his uninjured arm around his waist tightly, and Kent kicked Mara forward. He drew out his pistol and held it in his free hand, prepared to destroy anything that stood between them and Livermore. Mara trotted forward with Hellfire and Murphy’s corpse in tow. As Kent struggled to keep his voice even, he said to Gavin, “whatever you do, don’t let go of me. Got it?”

“Just don’t drop Murphy, old man.” Gavin replied weakly. It did nothing to reassure Kent.

He trotted Mara off the canyon on a gentler slope and into the stream valley below. From there, he began to follow it down towards the prairie lands. All Kent knew was that they were headed down out of the mountains and east, towards the road that led to Livermore. The rest was a blur. It was partially because it was night. Partially because he had been up for so long and it had begun to sink into his mind and body, on the fringes of his determination to get Gavin to a surgeon. But mainly all he could pay attention to outside of steering Mara on a clear path was Gavin. And the fear that encroached on him when he considered that his best efforts to save the man that had somehow nestled so close to his heart could amount to nothing. He’d have to face Sheriff Fowler alone, tell him the reason behind Murphy’s death was all for naught. And forever carry the weight of failing Gavin, unable to keep him safe from harm when he’d needed Kent the most.

Over and over, he tried to hide the way his voice faltered in distress as he reassured Gavin:

“You’re going to live.”

“You’ll get that fucking raise.”

“You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

All of which were reminders to himself, too. A futile attempt to calm his nerves that hadn’t been so frayed in years.

Every time, Gavin either hummed in response or mumbled drowsily, “I know, old man. I know.”

As they made it down to the road and Kent pointed Mara south, Gavin groaned in pain. His hold on Kent’s waist loosened slightly, and he pressed his head against Kent’s shoulder.

Kent kicked Mara into a canter, a surge of panic coursing through him. “Don’t you dare let go, Gavin. Hold on to me. _Please_ ,” his voice broke with the plea.

He felt Gavin nod against the back of his coat.

After some time, Mara’s quickened stride began to slow down. She snorted roughly as she struggled to catch her breath. Reluctantly, Kent slowed her to a trot for a stretch. Once her breath had mostly evened out, he sped her up to the canter again.

Checking that Murphy’s corpse was still secured to Hellfire’s back was less than an afterthought, and Kent only turned to check he was still there twice. Both times, he was.

Livermore was a few faint specks of light on the horizon when Gavin’s hold loosened more. He grumbled weakly against Kent’s back, “fuckin hell, my head’s spinnin.’”

Kent’s heart plummeted. The tourniquets weren’t working as well as he’d hoped. And his head injury couldn’t be helping anything. Kent slowed Mara to a stop, re-holstered his pistol, and dismounted.

Gavin stayed slumped on Mara, his hand clutching his shoulder. Slowly, he swung his leg over and dismounted the horse. His legs buckled once his feet hit the ground, and he collapsed forward.

He caught Gavin before he could fully fall, though he mustered a weak, “’m fine, really,” in protest. Kent, unconvinced, wrapped his arms securely around him. Gently, he eased Gavin down onto his back on the grass, kneeling by his side again.

Kent inspected the tourniquets closely. The one on his arm held fast, but the one on his shoulder had slipped. “Fuck,” Kent hissed as he loosened and retied it, his hands trembling and slick with blood. “I’m sorry, Gav.” As he worked, unable to ignore how his heart twisted at every faint whimper that escaped Gavin’s rattling breath, Gavin looked up at him with an unreadable expression. The tourniquet was secured after numerous attempts, and in that time Gavin’s breathing had become shallow. His eyes started to flutter shut, and Kent’s hand impulsively patted at his cheek.

“C’mon, we’ve gotta move,” Kent tried to command. It became a plea with his wavering voice. He began to help Gavin sit up with one hand, but he didn’t budge, heavy and limp under Kent’s arm. With both his arms, Kent pulled him upright. He begged quietly, “don’t give up on me.”

Gavin slouched against his chest, his unfocused gaze looking through Kent.

“You’ve gotta get back on Mara.” Kent said, another irrational attempt to will the deputy out of his weakened state.

In a feeble, broken voice so unlike him, Gavin whispered “’m sorry.”

Kent’s hand went to the side of Gavin’s face, patting at him over the dried layer of blood. “Gav, don’t-“

Gavin’s eyes closed. His body slumped against Kent’s.

“No. _No_!” He shouted, shaking him slightly. Gavin didn’t stir. He fumbled for Gavin’s limp arm and pressed his thumb to his inner wrist. His pulse felt weak, but at least it was there.

He laid Gavin down again and rushed over to Mara, pulling the reins down so she fell to her front knees. Kent gathered Gavin into his arms, mindful of his wounded right side, and lifted him up. Pain shot up his back with the motion, unused to gently carrying someone, but he didn’t care.

Mounting a horse with an unconscious person in his arms was difficult, but he managed to get into the saddle. Holding Gavin required both his arms to balance him, and he steered Mara forward with only his legs and voice. He pressed her into the gallop for the last few miles. Every time he looked down at Gavin’s expressionless, eerily pale face he felt his heart wrench. All he could focus on was how tightly he held Gavin and the brightening lights of Livermore.

The horses skidded to a halt in front of the doctors’ office with a “whoa.” Kent barely had to shout, “help! I need a doctor!” before the doctor that he had questioned days before opened the door, bewildered at an arrival so late at night. His expression turned to surprise when he saw Gavin wrapped up in Kent’s arms.

“What happened?“

“He was shot twice, he’s lost blood, he needs surgery-“ Kent rambled desperately.

The doctor froze when he looked over and saw Murphy’s corpse on Hellfire. “Holy hell, you got him-“

Normally, Kent would be hell-fired proud he brought a bounty in, and the recognition would leave him with a victorious warmth. This time, there was none of that. Any remaining professionality of his was gone as he shouted “who gives a shit?! He needs surgery now, you’d better fucking-“

Kent’s harshness snapped him back to reality. The doctor’s expression hardened, and he hurriedly interrupted: “of course, of course.”

The act of dismounting Mara whilst he ensured Gavin wouldn’t fall out of his secure grip was difficult, but he succeeded. He carried Gavin through the doors the doctor ushered him in, and he laid him on the operating table as the doctor prepared his tools.

The brighter lighting confirmed that Gavin was paler, and Kent’s eyes began to mist over. He turned away to shield himself from the doctor and Gavin’s frail appearance with his hat. Kent knew that the doctor wouldn’t want him pacing furiously while he focused on extracting the bullets out of Gavin. Or worse, as he truly wanted to do, getting in the way by clinging desperately to Gavin. He was close to losing emotional control, and all he wanted to do was apologize for all of this until his voice gave out.

He cleared his throat and told the doctor with a guarded neutrality: “I have to get Murphy’s body to Fort Collins. I’ll be back.”

The doctor nodded, fixated on his work.

Kent paused as he stepped through the threshold. He wanted to say more but didn’t. It was implied, anyway, and his pleas wouldn’t change anything.

Both horses were standing about placidly when he stepped out into the street. He tiredly got onto his horse’s back yet again and galloped off with Hellfire and Murphy in tow.

As he rode down towards Fort Collins with Murphy’s corpse, alternating the fatigued horses’ speeds, he felt like he had left a part of himself behind. The usually relaxing part of his life, travelling by horseback, had become a crushing stressor. He couldn’t deny to himself anymore just how afraid he was that Gavin wouldn’t make it, that in his effort to stop the bleeding he’d done more harm than good.

He finally checked his pocket watch for the first time that day. As he pulled it out, he realized how weakened he was, unable to remember the last time he ate or even drank. It was harder to grab it as his fingers trembled, and he was shocked that it read 12:04 am. He hoped Fowler would still be up following saloon debauchery, a familiar activity in the evenings.

The hour ride to the Fort Collins Sheriff’s office felt like an eternity with the thoughts Kent was too exhausted to fight off. He wanted, more than anything else, to race back to Gavin’s side. Apologize, be by him, make sure for himself Gavin would survive the ordeal.

His focus finally shifted when he turned onto the block the Sheriff’s Office was on. As he stopped in front of it, he saw a light was on inside. When he dismounted, Kent’s knees ached horribly, and a tremor shot through his legs.

He lifted Murphy’s corpse over his shoulder, though his body protested at the extra weight, and carried him up to the building.

Sheriff Fowler sat at his desk. When he glanced up, his expression became uncharacteristically shocked. He composed himself again. “Holy fuck,” he stated as he walked up to Kent.

Kent dropped the corpse, stretched his back and winced.

Fowler inspected Murphy’s face. “You got him. Even if he’s … dead.” As Kent expected, there was a hint of resignation as he said the word. He turned his attention to Kent, regarding him with slight suspicion. With a hint of apprehension, he asked “where’s Deputy Reed?”

A lump formed in Kent’s throat as his eyes threatened to tear up again. “He’s…” he couldn’t even bring himself to finish the sentence, and Gavin was still alive. As far as he knew. He took a deep breath that hitched. In a rough voice he barely recognized, he informed him, “just hold on to his half for now. He’s in Livermore. With a doctor.”

Fowler eyed him closely, searching Kent for any indications of falsehood, before he nodded curtly and turned his focus elsewhere. “Okay.” The sheriff knelt behind his desk to unlock a vault. Kent heard the door snap shut and lock, and Fowler stood up, handing him the stack of money. “There’s your half, for his amount dead. His bounty went up some because of what happened in Wellington.”

Kent felt the stack of money in his hands. From the weight alone, he knew it was a decent amount. For the first time in his career, there was no swell of pride or accomplishment, even with the smoothened surface of the hard-earned cash against his blood-stained hands.

He’d caught a few outlaws like Gregor Murphy in his life. Sometimes it had been alongside others, sometimes it was through a major stroke of luck from witnessing a sighting himself. All of them were crowning accomplishments in not just his years as a bounty hunter, but his overall life.

This time, there was nothing but the leaden weight of sorrow.

It all felt wrong. Gavin should be by his side. He should be handed his share of the bounty with one of those smug grins on his face that Kent had found less irritating and more endearing as of late. Kent should glance over at him and share a meaningful look of accomplishment with the man that had been such an effective partner and meant more to Kent than he’d ever know. They took Murphy down _together_. Gavin shouldn’t be unconscious and in surgery. He shouldn’t have been shot by Murphy in the first place while Kent went unscathed.

He came back to the present and gave Fowler a curt nod as he pocketed the money. “Thanks,” he stated flatly. “I should get back to Gav- Deputy Reed.”

Kent began his hurried walk to the front door and attempted to ignore how his body couldn’t move fast enough when Fowler asked him “where are you going?”

“Livermore.” Kent didn’t stop.

“Christ. Allen. Rest before you ride back.” Fowler warned.

Kent wanted to tell him that he was fine. That his exhaustion didn’t matter, he couldn’t rest until he returned to Livermore, even if his legs had begun to tremble and his head felt too light. He stopped and tried to turn back, to tell Fowler that he wouldn’t rest yet. Instead, his head spun, and his legs gave out. Everything faded to darkness.

There were no nightmares, only nothing in the time between when he passed out and woke up in his hotel room. When he came back to his senses Kent sat up, his eyes darting around. He realized that the room was his; its rugged features recent enough to stand out in his blurred together memories of hotel rooms. There was a searing bright light from between the blinds, and Kent instinctively pulled out his pocket watch. 10:46 am. He checked over the stack of money in his pocket and found the weight and number of bills to feel the same as last night. Or, well, that morning.

The sheriff’s office came back to him.

The bounty. Murphy’s corpse.

 _Gavin_.

He scrambled off the bed and regretted it when he realized how weakened he still was. Kent begrudgingly realized, as he staggered to his feet and held one of the bedposts for support, that he needed to take care of himself before he returned to Livermore.

After he stored most of the bounty money in the safe, he combed back his hair, placed his hat back on, and overlooked the disdain he felt at the scratch of new stubble.

Somehow, likely because he had little strength to worry over getting to Gavin right away, Kent kept himself calm and collected enough to eat downstairs. He drank through more water than he thought he’d ever need in one sitting to make up for how dehydrated he’d become.

Afterwards, he felt more energized than he had in a day or two, and he found both Mara and Hellfire in the hotel’s barn, well-rested and untacked.

After feeding both some treats and a few absent-minded pats to only begin making up for how chaotic the previous day was, he stored his tack in his hotel room, giving Mara a break.

The suspense of not knowing Gavin’s welfare took him over as he led Hellfire out onto the street and mounted him. He kicked the horse into a gallop as soon as they were on the open road, and the fiery horse was all too happy to take off running, back north to Gavin.

Kent hoped he wasn’t too late.


	11. Old & New Wounds

Once Hellfire made it up the slope and the cluster of buildings came into view, Kent’s heartbeat thundered against his ribs. Riding up to the doctor’s office was a haze. All that mattered to him was getting through the doors to the operating room Gavin had been in.

When Kent investigated the empty room, a woman, presumably the nurse based off her apron and shadowed eyes, stepped into the threshold. “You need somethin’?” she called over to him.

“Where’s Gav- Deputy Reed?”

The nurse looked over him, shocked. “My god, you’re that bounty hunter. He’s upstairs. Here, follow me.”

The short walk up the stairs and down the hall felt too long. When they made it to the door and the nurse gestured for him to go in, Kent swallowed the forming lump in his throat. He took off his hat, combed back his hair, and opened the door.

A small bed was centered in the room. On it lay Gavin. His breath was so shallow, it took Kent a few moments to notice that his bare chest rose and fell. Gavin’s upper right arm and chest were layered thickly in bandages, and another crossed over his right brow where Murphy’s handgun had struck him, wrapping around his head.

Kent walked up to him, relieved yet still weighed down by concern at his state. Gavin’s eyes were closed, and a frown shadowed his face in discomfort. He was reminded of the nurse’s presence when she walked over to the opposite side of the bed and pressed the back of her hand against Gavin’s forehead. She frowned and strode back out the door.

Left alone, Kent looked down at Gavin and breathed a shaky sigh at the sight of him. His skin was still pale, and it couldn’t just be from the bright afternoon sun that flooded the room. He imitated the nurse and gently touched the back of his hand to Gavin’s forehead, cautious of where he’d been struck. Gavin’s skin was warm, and it immediately worried him. Kent reminded himself it could’ve been caused by the sunlight in addition to the surgery. There was a chair in the corner of the room, and Kent pulled it over to Gavin’s side to sit and watch over him.

He had so many things he wanted to say to Gavin, even if he wasn’t able to listen. Amongst them, to beg him to wake up, to apologize for Murphy. Yet he couldn’t find the courage to speak any of them out loud. If he did, his impression of stoicism would disappear; an unwelcome idea when he could be seen or heard by others.

The sense of companionship had returned with his proximity to Gavin, but the sight of him unconscious kept unease settled in Kent’s stomach. He buried his face in his hands, took a deep breath, and tried to compose himself. Once again, he noticed the newly forming stubble when it scratched against his palms.

Kent forced himself to leave Gavin’s side long enough to bring up the saddlebags from Hellfire, and he went through his routine of shaving. It was an almost comforting presence in his ever-changing life, having done it nearly every morning since he was a young man. As he shaved, he naively hoped that Gavin would wake up and call him a ‘goddamn city slicker,’ in that tone of his that had gone from mild insult to friendly jab.

Of course, Gavin didn’t wake up during that time. After he put away the shaving supplies, he sat back down and took off his coat. He picked at the specks of dirt on it, unsure of what to do with himself.

Gavin’s hand was at his side, not far from Kent at all. He immediately felt guilty when he thought about how much he wanted to reach out and hold it. While the gesture wasn’t unusual to do when someone was sick or recovering and it was perfectly innocent, he didn’t know if Gavin would want that, especially from some lonely old man. Part of him ached to just reach out for Gavin; feel how warm or cold or callused or soft his hands may be against his own, because he was dying to know that much. Even though his feelings could never be returned, Kent would have that much information to latch onto before he moved forward with his life. He looked away from Gavin, humiliated by his persistent feelings.

When he looked at his pocket watch, he noticed it was early evening. He decided, with reluctance, to leave Gavin’s side for some time. Before the temptation of holding Gavin’s hand became too much, he could get something to eat and take care of Hellfire. Gavin had never doted on or habitually tended to him like Kent did with his own, but it was the least he could do for now.

After a small dinner at the hotel restaurant, he finally paid attention to Hellfire. Even the sight of the tall, inquisitive horse wrenched his heart. Kent thought back to the horse races they’d had, with Gavin confidently astride Hellfire, the reds and browns of his clothing matching so well to his horse. Gavin’s ridiculous naming conventions for his horses; though Hellfire had grown on Kent, the name so suitable for his deep red color.

Hellfire was more than happy to have the attention. He didn’t reflect Kent’s sorrow at all, nuzzling with fascination at Kent’s hat and shirt when he approached. The horse scratched his lips over Kent’s back and shoulder when he removed the saddle and began to brush out Hellfire’s dust-dulled coat.

Kent half listened to the idle conversations of townspeople as a dust cloud rose from Hellfire’s increasingly metallic coat, and he almost felt normal again. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, his fretting thoughts returned to Gavin. How he was still unconscious though the surgery had been hours beforehand, and his warmer temperature…

He reminded himself that Gavin was a stubborn man, and he wouldn’t give in to something without a fight. But when Gavin’s weakened apology and blank gaze from the night before repeated in his mind, the weight of doubt settled in his chest.

When he returned to the room a couple hours later through a strenuous amount of self-control, Gavin was asleep and looked completely the same. Though it was exactly what he’d expected, Kent’s heart still sank. As the sun set, he kept watch over Gavin. The few streetlights and buildings lit up as the sky blackened and stars appeared. Through Kent alternating between idly watching the rise and fall of Gavin’s chest and pacing between the window and the chair, Gavin didn’t wake up. Once he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore, Kent fell asleep in the chair.

When Kent awoke, the haze of sleep immediately disappeared at the sight of the empty bed in front of him, the thin sheets crumpled up. The golden light from the sunrise illuminated the small building, and he found his way down the steps quickly, heart pounding. He stopped when he heard voices, and what sounded like faint pained cries.

“Shit, there was still shrapnel in there, no wonder-“ a horrified voice commented. He realized it sounded like the nurse from the past day.

Kent had to stop himself from opening the doors to see what was happening. Instead, he paced up and down the hall as they worked. The pained cries and gasps were barely noticeable over the sound of Kent’s boots striking the floor. Though they were faint, focusing on his own footsteps instead of the cries proved to be futile; he couldn’t ignore Gavin suffering. The sounds made him nauseous, and the idea of barging through the doors to make Gavin’s worsened pain stop was greatly tempting despite its irrationality. He forced himself to continue past the doors with every furious pacing.

After a while, the cries cut off to near silence. One of the doors opened and the nurse stepped out. She froze at the sight of Kent. Tentatively, she explained “we… we had to do surgery on him again. There were clothing fragments infecting his wounds that the doctor missed yesterday.”

“Shit,” Kent cursed and stormed past her toward the surgery room.

“Sir, you don’t need to-“ She called after him. He walked in without a second thought.

The doctor was sterilizing his tools as Gavin lay on the operating table. “He should be fine once the fever goes down,” the doctor informed him as Kent rushed back to Gavin’s side.

His blood pressure rose when he saw how pale and blank Gavin’s face was. Kent brushed his fingers over Gavin’s forehead, combing back his loosened hair. He grew angrier when he felt how hot to the touch Gavin’s skin was.

Kent fought away his own memories as he asked tersely, trying to keep his tone neutral, “how the _fuck_ did you miss looking for shrapnel?” His voice shook slightly anyways.

The doctor didn’t speak at first, glancing down quickly at his tools. When he did, he began to say, “we just got back, we didn’t get much sleep, there was a mining accident in Manhattan…”

The excuse still infuriated him. He glared up at the doctor, his sharp voice filling the room as he snapped, “what the fuck kind of doctor are you, missing something like that and keeping him conscious?! You shouldn’t have-”

The doctor scowled back. “Mistakes happen. I fixed it. If that’s how you’re going to be in _my_ office, you’re welcome to leave-“

Kent wanted to shout at him, lose his temper further, tell him to never lay a finger on Gavin again or he’d leave the doctor with wounds of his own. Instead, he clenched his jaw and nodded gruffly at the doctor. The thought of not being able to see Gavin as he recovered was an unbearable one. He looked down at Gavin again, his gunshot wounds covered by fresh bandages.

“I’ll get him back up to his bed-“ the doctor began.

Kent gently moved his arm under Gavin’s back and the other behind his knees. “ _I’ll_ do it,” he asserted and pulled Gavin closer to him.

The doctor looked exasperated, but told him, “fine. You be careful with him.”

Kent bit back a retort and lifted him up, mindful of not moving Gavin’s wounded side too much. The deputy groaned quietly, and Kent felt a twist of pain at the sound. He instinctively pressed Gavin closer to his chest. Though his back ached again, he carried Gavin back up the stairs carefully.

He gently placed Gavin back onto the bed and tucked him under the sheets to match how he was the previous day. The nurse came in with rags, a bowl and a pitcher of water. Kent walked up and held his hands out for the items.

“You really don’t have to-“ she began.

“I want to.” Kent replied firmly. “It’s the least I can do. For him.”

“Well… alright. I’ve got a lot of travelin’ to do today,” she relented and handed the items over, relief softening her exhausted expression. She instructed, “place those on his forehead and armpits, soak them regularly. Try to get him to drink if he wakes up, as well. That should help.”

Kent nodded and carried them over to the bedside as she left and closed the door behind her. He wasted no time, dampening the rags in the water-filled bowl and placing them gently where the nurse had told him to, cautious of Gavin’s wounds and wrappings.

Gavin’s breath was still shallow and shook at times into almost a whimper. When he did, his body trembled slightly. As Kent got over the worst of the anger he felt at the doctor’s shoddy work, his heart just plain broke. He didn’t bother to try and stop the tears this time.

“Christ, I’m so sorry Gav…” he apologized in a defeated whisper, his vision blurring. He shakily continued, “first I failed you, and now… now there’s this.”

When his memories flooded back this time, he didn’t fight it. Time only faded them so much, as his nightmares had proven, and he remembered all too well the bullet that tore into his leg amongst the dissonance of cannons, gunfire, and shouting. How he fell to the ground as the pain overwhelmed him. The disorientation that took him over as he was carried away from the chaos on a stretcher. Weary faces had glanced down at him as dirt went flying and other wounded men screamed, and Kent had forgotten who he was. His name, his only recently ended childhood, his home, his mother and sister were all thrown aside. He knew only that his leg was burning, his heart and nerves were electrified, and a fear unlike anything he’d felt before crushed his chest. In some battlefield, far from any familiarity or comfort, he feared his life was going to end.

He remembered the delirium following the surgery he was half conscious for, the fear and agony that held him in a death grip before the pain knocked him out. The following days in that dirty, overpacked field hospital that were a haze of hearing countless dying men cough their lungs up, groan, and scream in too much detail. Being frozen by the cold despite his entire body burning up. How alone he’d felt despite the occasional, fleeting attention from doctors and nurses that were overwhelmed by the number of wounded. Being carried away for the second procedure he was, gratefully, unconscious for when the doctors paid more attention to him and realized what they’d initially missed. The thin, worn down excuse of a blanket between himself and the solid, frozen ground. The canvas ceiling he’d stared up at, too weakened to consider looking around, that quaked in the unforgiving winter winds. As he stared up at it, he believed he was going to die in that unfamiliar hospital. Enough excruciating days passed that he began to lose his fear of dying and even hope for it, if only as a release from the engulfing fever. He stopped caring that he was only eighteen and he wanted more out of his life.

As he thought back to those horrible days, it overwhelmed his emotional barriers. Kent heaved a single, lone sob as he finally gave in. He reached out for Gavin’s hand and gingerly wrapped his fingers around it. Stopping Gavin’s fever entirely was, he hated to admit, out of his control. Until he came back from his illness, all Kent could do was be there for him. Make sure he wasn’t alone as everything was shrouded by pain and delirium, and more comfortable than Kent had ever been in his complicated recovery so many years ago.

Gavin’s limp hand seemed to burn as Kent stroked his thumb over the back of his hand and sat there in silence. He wiped the tears and snot onto the sleeve of his shirt, focusing on the grounding feeling of Gavin’s hand in his. Kent didn’t let go again until a few hours later, when he re-dampened the rags.

Late that night, Gavin’s eyes fluttered open. Kent’s heart lurched as Gavin looked around the room, too weak to lift his head from the pillow. His brow furrowed when he saw Kent, but his glazed eyes weren’t truly focused on him.

It didn’t surprise Kent to see him delirious, but the sight of the deputy so weakened still pained him, the usual watchful spark in his eyes gone. He readied a cup of water for Gavin and helped him sit up, his arm pressed over his overheated shoulder blades. When he brought the cup to Gavin’s lips, he eagerly drank it, and Kent had to pause a few times to ensure he didn’t drink it too fast.

Gavin gazed emptily over towards him as Kent lowered him back down onto the pillow and brought the sheets up around him. Kent wanted to say so many things to him, because at least he was awake this time, but he went for a repeat of his words from their ride off the canyon. “You’ll be okay, Gavin.” He gently squeezed Gavin’s uninjured shoulder. Though he couldn’t guarantee it, he added hoarsely, “I promise.” He settled back down in the chair.

Gavin closed his eyes after a while, and Kent found himself nodding off not long after.


	12. A Revelation

Kent continued to stay by Gavin’s side through the next morning and afternoon. When the nurse brought up food, Kent took it with a quiet “thanks,” and she eyed him with unspoken interest before she left again.

Gavin’s fever remained unchanged, and Kent kept up with dampening and replacing the rags. In the times between resoaking them, he either stared off into the distance, dozed, or held Gavin’s hand for short durations. Despite his moment of emotional weakness the previous day, there was still a strangeness to using affectionate gestures for the first time in so many years.

Fretting thoughts continued to plague him, until he finally decided to leave Gavin’s side. Only for a while, to go riding and clear his mind. Ever since he’d been a boy, Kent had enjoyed leisurely horseback rides, and he never got enough of a chance to as an ever-traveling bounty hunter.

After Kent gave Gavin’s hand a couple sympathetic pats, he moved away and picked up Hellfire’s tack from the corner of the room. Kent looked back over; the pale, bandaged deputy stayed asleep. Kent breathed out a sigh, told himself Gavin would be okay while he was gone, and left the room.

Hellfire’s ears were perked forward as he proudly trotted along the road outside of Livermore. Kent found that the change of setting did help at first. He followed the main road, then turned onto a smaller trail to ride up along the side of a hill, where he could stop at its peak and observe Livermore and the surrounding landscape from a distance.

At the top, a gentle breeze moved through the grasses. Kent inhaled the fresh, clean air as he viewed the rolling hills that varied from brown and gold to a richer green. Though the vista was beautiful to look at initially, Kent couldn’t help but feel Gavin’s absence.

He turned Hellfire around onto the trail as the sun began to set, and they traveled back down the hill. Kent’s thoughts kept trailing back to Gavin, though he tried to fight them off and instead focus on the _thud_ of Hellfire’s hooves against the dirt.

As he connected with the main road again, he faced Hellfire towards Livermore and pulled the horse to a stop. Kent knew the best way to clear his thoughts was to race, and though that had a connotation with Gavin, it was still the best way to leave his problems in the dust. At least temporarily.

He kicked Hellfire forward with a “yah!” and the horse took off.

The wind whistled around him as Livermore gradually drew closer again, and he could feel how Hellfire seemed to fly over the ground beneath them, his hooves striking the ground in a furious rush. For a non-racehorse, his swiftness was impressive. For a few minutes, all that existed was himself and the horse that thundered down the road. Thoughts of Murphy, Gavin, and his own future were all left behind.

Kent slowed Hellfire to a canter as they neared the edge of town, and finally to a walk as they rode onto the main street and returned to the front of the doctor’s office. He patted the horse’s neck, partially to try dissipating his rising tension of being near Gavin, yet not knowing how he fared.

His attempts to relax wound up being for nothing. Kent had barely stopped Hellfire in front of the building’s hitching post when the nurse stepped out and called “he’s been frantic, and I can’t get him to relax.”

Kent’s heart jolted and he dismounted quickly.

She remarked, “he’s been calling someone’s name over and over… Kent.” Kent threw the reins at her and took off into the building without another thought.

As he flew up the stairs, he heard a muffled and distressed: “Kent!”

“Gavin!” Kent anxiously called as he yanked open the door into Gavin’s room and slammed it behind him.

“Kent!” Gavin roughly cried, his breath in erratic gasps. He was turned on his side and his widened, glassy eyes looked around. Kent’s heart plummeted.

“Oh god, it’s okay, I’m here,” Kent consoled as he rushed to his side. He touched Gavin’s forehead. It was warmer than before, and in that moment he felt like the worst man alive. “I’m sorry, Gav,” he apologized. He took Gavin’s hand, which had draped off the side of the bed, clammy fingers outstretched towards him, and squeezed it tightly.

“Kent…” Gavin murmured, his voice crackling and small. He gazed up towards him.

It twinged Kent’s heart with both sorrow and a faint spark of warmth. The rags were off him and on the bedsheets, and Kent let go of his hand and got to work. He moved Gavin onto his back, dampened the rags, and placed them back where they were before, gently repeating, “you’ll be okay” as he looked after him. Once he tucked the sheets back around Gavin, he took a hold of his hand again and combed his fingers through Gavin’s greasy hair. Shakily, he apologized ”I’m so sorry, Gav. I won’t leave you again. I promise.”

Gavin quieted back down, though he still shuddered at times as he closed his eyes and fell back asleep. Kent sat back down and kept Gavin’s hand in his own. “I’ll be right here, Gavin. You’re not alone,” he murmured softly.

His hand covered Gavin’s as he fell asleep. Right before he drifted off, he felt the slightest twitch of Gavin’s hand. So feeble, he thought his hopeful mind had dreamt it.

The next day, the nurse brought more food for the two of them. Kent thanked her genuinely that time around. At one point, Gavin was awake, but he still wasn’t himself. His glassy, half-lidded eyes locked with Kent’s for brief moments when Kent helped him sit up and drink and eat, but he always glanced away again. His fever felt the same as the previous days, having calmed down from his distress the day before. Kent continued placing the soaked rags on him and held his hand when nobody was around.

When the doctor came in to check on Gavin’s progress, Kent stood up and moved his hand to Gavin’s arm, holding on to it protectively. He watched the doctor with a weary glare, and hoped he knew just how much Kent didn’t trust him.

“Relax,” the doctor grumbled, aware of Kent’s tension, “I just want to check his wounds.”

“Fine.” Kent watched as he unwound the bandages, revealing the injuries below. With little pink and swelling, they looked cleaner. At least there was improvement there.

The doctor rewrapped the wounds with cleaner dressings, and Gavin’s breath hitched a few times. Kent ran his thumb up and down his arm, trying to reassure himself as well as Gavin. Once the doctor left again, he relaxed and took ahold of Gavin’s hand again. He knew it was irrational to be so spiteful to a professional that wanted to do their job, but the botched first surgery dredged up too painful of memories for him to just let it go. Especially when Gavin was the one that suffered from it.

He hadn’t shaved that morning, having forgotten about it entirely as he focused on Gavin. When he finally shaved that evening, he used the small mirror in the corner of the room to do so. As he went through the motions, part of him hoped that he’d hear Gavin make a comment on how overly fancy he was. He wondered if he’d ever hear Gavin’s normal voice again, so warm and rough and less abrasive than ever towards him. It had been a few days, and he was beginning to question his own memories of Gavin’s voice.

When he took his seat next to Gavin again, he re-soaked the rags and felt the weight of dread at Gavin’s condition. Since the doctor and nurse wouldn’t hear him if he stayed quiet, Kent spoke up.

“I miss you, Gav,” he confessed hoarsely as he placed the last rag on his forehead, his fingers brushing back Gavin’s rumpled hair. “Pull through this and come back to me. _Please_ ,” he begged as his voice broke. He slumped back in the chair. “Just… wake up and talk to me again. You can tell me how much of a city slicker I am, or how I’m such an old man, or how my taste in guns is outdated, or challenge me to a horse race. I can’t stand seeing you like this. Say something, _anything_ to me.” He squeezed Gavin’s hand and thought of the many other things he still couldn’t muster up the courage to say.

_I shouldn’t have left your side._

_You shouldn’t be suffering the way I did all those years ago._

_I should’ve shot Murphy sooner._

_You wouldn’t be battling this if I had just been patient and cauterized your wounds._

_I’m sorry I didn’t get you here fast enough._

_I’m scared I’ll lose you._

_You’ve saved my life, and all I’ve done is fail you._

_I’m so sorry._

_I love you._

The first thing he noticed when he woke up the next morning were the distracting aches in his back and neck. Sleeping in a chair was really beginning to take its toll on him. Kent winced as he stood up and did his best to stretch. He gazed down at Gavin, who was still asleep and looked less pale in the soft lighting from the sunrise, though his cheeks remained flushed. Kent hoped that the color to his face wasn’t entirely from the lighting as he stood up to shave. It was hard to leave Gavin’s side, even to step across the room, but he knew he needed the familiarity of routine. So long as he didn’t stray too far from the deputy.

He thought it was a trick of his desperate mind when he first faintly heard his name as the blade glided under his chin. So faint, he couldn’t even begin to pin the voice.

When he heard “Kent…?” slightly louder, it was rough, weak and warm all at once. He nicked himself on the jaw as his normally steady hand jolted a bit going over the last part of his face. Kent knew it stung like hell as he looked over at Gavin, hope fluttering in his chest, but he didn’t care.

Gavin was slowly sitting up. When Kent saw how exhausted but alert he looked, he was hit by an onslaught of relief more intense than anything he’d felt before.

“My god…” he put down the razor and rushed over to him, placing the back of his hand on Gavin’s forehead. Still warmer than normal, but no longer concerning. The worst of it had passed.

“You… what the hell are you doing here?” Gavin asked, pure confusion in his voice as Kent pulled his hand away.

Before Kent could respond, Gavin looked down at the bandages. He winced when he moved his arm and asked, “what the hell am _I_ doing here?”

“You were shot and had to have surgery.”

“Fuck… what… how long was I out?”

“Four days. How’re you feeling?”

“… like shit,” Gavin groaned and slowly brought his hand up to massage his temple. “Christ.” He started to move off the bed.

“Gavin, you shouldn’t-“ Kent warned and took a small step back.

He tried to stand, but his legs gave out and he stumbled forward with a “fuck!”

Kent caught him and held him steady. “Don’t do that yet,” Kent lectured as he gently pushed him back onto the bed. Gavin slouched on it, a frown directed at his own wrappings. He grimaced when he tried to lift his right arm again.

The door opened, and the doctor and nurse walked in. “Oh my god, he’s finally awake!” the nurse exclaimed, relieved, before rushing back out the door. “I’ll bring you somethin’ to eat!” She called from the hallway.

The doctor unwrapped Gavin’s wounds to inspect them. Kent didn’t hold on to him this time, but his hand twitched when the doctor came near, and he kept a suspicious glare as the doctor checked the injuries and sterilized them. He clenched his fists when Gavin hissed in pain and effectively stopped himself from the temptations of shoving away the doctor or grasping Gavin’s arm or hand. Gavin was a grown man, after all. He didn’t need to be protected in a fit of irrationality.

After the doctor left again and the nurse brought them a bland, simplistic meal, he and Gavin ate in silence. Though Kent didn’t look right at him, he could see that the deputy fleetingly glanced at him, his brow furrowed in thought.

Kent, tired of sitting in the old wooden chair, stood at the window and gazed outside at the rest of Livermore.

Gavin broke the silence that had settled between them with a realized “you… you _killed_ him, Kent.”

Kent knew he meant Murphy. Gavin must’ve begun to remember what happened before he passed out.

There were hints of disappointment and anger in his voice as he continued, “Fowler said-“

Kent kept his focus on the row of buildings outside, and interrupted, “to bring him in alive. That he was important. I know. I should’ve shot him the moment he hit you.”

Gavin exasperated, “here you go with killing bounties again, old man, and of all the ones to die when we had clear fucking instructions-”

Kent knew that Gavin shouldn’t be stressing himself out so soon after everything he’d endured, but he couldn’t stay quiet and let him ignore the point of Murphy’s death. As he turned around to face him, Kent snapped back, “for fuck’s sake, Gavin. He struck and shot you! He was going to kill you. I- I couldn’t let that happen.”

Gavin watched him closely, before he turned away and sighed.

Kent turned back to the window. “I heard the same disappointment from Sheriff Fowler, deputy. I don’t need to hear it from you, too, especially when you should be resting up. I know he could’ve given information on the Mitchell gang, and assisted hunting the rest of them down. But it was his life or yours, and I stand by my decision.”

Gavin didn’t speak up again. An icy silence settled over the two, and it aggravated Kent. He’d spent the last couple of days so worried he’d lose Gavin, and now that he was alert, they were tense around each other. As if they were back at their initial interactions.

He decided to leave the room, to give Gavin some space to process everything that happened on his own.

As he shrugged on his coat and put on his hat, Gavin looked at him suspiciously. “Where are you going?”

“To get some fresh air. I’ll be back.”

“Fine. Lucky bastard,” Gavin grumbled.

“Lay down and get some rest, Gav,” Kent ordered, gentler, as he walked out the door. “You’ll be back in no time.”


	13. Recovery & Departure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit goes to my friend dropsofmars for an interaction idea surrounding Gavin in this chapter's end scene... to put it vaguely.

That time, Kent’s short break from Gavin wasn’t as disheartening. He found it easier to clear his mind and focus on cantering Hellfire over the worn roads surrounding Livermore. From his elevated perspective, he took in the fiery colors of the oncoming sunset with more interest than he’d previously given.

When he cooled down Hellfire and the horse sauntered alongside the homesteads he and Gavin had traveled to not long before, his thoughts strayed back to the deputy.

Of course, he’d be mad after realizing that Murphy was dead. The mysterious Mitchell gang would remain that way, and their crimes could go on one step ahead of the law. Until one of them was captured alive, or someone confessed something. Kent knew either option was an eventual possibility. There was still an untamed wildness to the West, but as he’d seen in his travels, it was beginning to fade.

Though Kent knew Gavin had wanted to turn Murphy in alive for career advancements, and that was likely a main source of his anger, Murphy wasn’t dead without good reason. Someday, Gavin could detain another outlaw like him, all because he’d been able to walk away from the botched showdown with Murphy. If Gavin couldn’t understand and accept what Kent had done to protect him, he’d just have to declare it in a bout of frustration once Gavin was more recovered, and leave.

Kent found that after riding Hellfire and dining at the saloon, confronting Gavin would be unnecessary. His prior irritation seemed to be past when Kent entered his room again. Gavin’s expression softened when he glanced up at Kent, distracted from the newspaper in his hands, but then it quickly changed to a frown.

Kent shot him a questioning look as he took off his hat. Gavin remarked, “Jesus. You look like shit.”

“Excuse me?”

“When’s the last time you slept?” His voice was marked with concern, and Kent almost didn’t believe it.

“This morning.”

“Your face says otherwise.”

“I’ve been sleeping in a fucking _chair_ , Gavin. You try that for a couple days and see how you look after.” Kent defended himself wearily.

Gavin moved over to the right-most side of the small bed. “Get over here,” his gentler tone turned his command into more of a request.

Kent fought down the accumulating heat in his face at such an idea. He glanced over the bed. “It’s too small,” he observed, as detached as possible. “That can’t fit both of us.”

Gavin gestured to the space next to him and patted the off-white sheet, “it can.”

“Gavin, seriously. I’m fine-“ he protested, though a dull ache had begun to return to his back.

“Relax. I won’t bite. I had a partial bath earlier, while you were gone. And the sheets got cleaned. I’m not some uncivilized cowboy, if that’s what you’re thinkin.’” Gavin stated, watching Kent closely.

Kent just stared out the window, towards the hotel, and despised the way his heart accelerated at the thought of being so close to Gavin. Against his longings both for Gavin and easing the aches in his body, he countered aloud, “I can just get a hotel room, you realize that, right?”

Through gritted teeth, Gavin ordered, “Kenton Allen. Just get in the fuckin’ bed.” Kent noticed how flushed his cheeks were as he continued, “I’m not letting you make some dumb bounty hunting mistake because you were a sleep deprived dumbass who slept in a chair for too long-“

Kent threw his hands up, recognizing the rephrasing of his own lecturing. “Okay, okay. Don’t get so worked up. You’re still recovering.” He moved aside the chair and draped his coat over it.

“I know all too well, old man. I get exhausted just sitting up and reading,” Gavin complained. He turned his dour focus back to the newspaper.

Kent settled next to him on the bed and tried to keep a sliver of distance. With how little space there was, his arm wound up pressed against Gavin’s anyways, and he took a few deep breaths to help himself relax. Gavin’s attention remained on the newspaper, and Kent didn’t dare look over at him as the heat in his face began to subside. While he had no idea why the hell Gavin was voluntarily sharing a bed with him, and such a tiny one at that, he hoped there was another meaning to Gavin’s insistence over the subject.

And then he told himself that was ridiculous. Outside of the discomforts of sitting in some old wooden chair, he’d seen how he looked in the mirror when he shaved. He knew the shadows under his eyes were worse; and his stringy hair was unwilling to be slicked back the way he preferred. Besides, people shared beds platonically. There was no reason to overthink it, he was just some friend in Gavin’s life, borne out of professional necessity. He wasn’t, he _couldn’t_ be anything more in the deputy’s eyes.

Gavin put the newspaper aside, sighed, and massaged his temple with his uninjured arm.

“You’re through the worst of it, Gav. You’ll be fine.” Kent reassured him as he lay on his back and crossed his arms. Oh, how it felt good to properly lay down and rest.

Gavin broke the momentary silence by clearing his throat. With a stiff disinterest, he pointed out, “y’know, most people sleep _under_ the sheets, Kent.”

“I’m fine.” Kent replied all too quickly. That was a little _too_ close and he didn’t want to make some fool of himself. That much proximity to Gavin would be torture, and he didn’t want to wind up clinging to Gavin in his sleep.

Gavin turned out the kerosene lamp and settled onto his back as well with a pained huff. “I’d better be fine soon. I actually _miss_ dealing with saloon brawls and drunken morons. And fucking _paperwork_ , too. It’s boring here.”

“I bet,” Kent groggily replied as he closed his eyes, recalling his own experiences with medical leave.

“Aren’t you bored, too? No outlaws to shoot at?” There was a playfulness to Gavin’s strained voice, and Kent’s heart warmed at the return of it.

At the same time, the question made his heart sink a bit, as he recalled the previous days all too well. Yes, he’d been bored. More than that, he’d alternated between distressed and determined. Gavin’s pained breaths and fever delirium had wrenched his heart as he dedicated himself to bringing his fever down and staying by his side. Worst of all, he’d been _scared_. Something he hadn’t felt at that level in a long, long time. Terrified the man he’d fallen for would succumb to his wounds, before Kent could even repay him for the bandits and Sutherland or bask in the comforts and intrigues of their strange friendship once again.

He couldn’t tell Gavin any of that, though. Kent doubted the reception would be positive, and Gavin’s companionship was something to cherish. Especially after everything that had happened.

“You asleep already, old man?” Gavin asked, yawning.

Kent’s face heated up, as the source of his thoughts spoke up. Guardedly, he replied: “somewhat. I haven’t been settled in one place like this in a long time. Makes me a bit restless, even when riding Hellfire.”

“You’ve been borrowing my horse?” Gavin questioned, perplexed.

“Yeah. To ride around. Get fresh air.”

“Hm. That’s probably good. He won’t explode when I’m back in the saddle.” A couple minutes later, Gavin mumbled, “’night, Kent.”

Kent smiled for a moment at the ceiling and whispered back, “night, Gav.”

Another two days, and Gavin’s fever had disappeared. After another three days of partial bed rest, walking around Livermore, and sleeping side by side on the tiny bed, the doctor finally declared Gavin fit to travel and ordered him to keep physical activity down for the next four weeks. Desk work only, for everything to heal well.

Gavin was displeased about that based off the scathing pout that crossed his face, but he begrudgingly agreed. Right after, he got himself dressed in his cleaned but bullet-marred clothes, eager to return to Fort Collins.

When Kent followed Gavin down to Hellfire, carrying the deputy’s tack, he considered how they were going to return to Livermore.

After Kent secured the cinch, he stepped away and informed Gavin, “I’ll catch a stagecoach now that you’re saddled.”

He was going to leave, but he stopped when Gavin glanced over at him, expression strangely neutral. “They don’t travel down to Fort Collins that often.”

Kent shrugged. “I’m between bounties. No rush.”

“That’ll cost you money.”

“And?”

“It’s not that long a ride. Hellfire’s strong.” Gavin suggested.

Kent didn’t know what to say to such an invitation. He started to turn and walk away, to leave before he over-contemplated Gavin’s words. “I’ll see you-“

Gavin grabbed his arm and stopped him in his tracks. “Kent. Don’t waste your money, it’s a short ride.”

Kent sighed and relented. It would save him money and time, there was nothing else to it. Gavin was only being practical.

“Fine. Since you’re so insistent,” he groused. He moved past Gavin and climbed into the saddle. He looked down at him.

“Go behind the saddle,” Gavin ordered.

“I’ll steer him. You’re still recovering.”

“I’m mostly recovered. Besides, he’s _my_ horse. So scoot!”

Kent moved onto the horse’s bare back. Gavin got into the saddle and began to trot Hellfire south.

Though his balance was reasonable, and Hellfire’s gait was steady, he still had to grab ahold of Gavin’s coat a few times. Every time, his face burned over just how ridiculous the whole situation was and he let go again, grateful that Gavin’s back was turned to him.

When they were almost to Fort Collins a few hours later, he noticed for the first time since that night, “you lost your hat.”

Gavin instinctively patted the top of his head. “Oh, yeah. I did,” he agreed with a quiet interest. “Drat. I’d had that one for years.”

“Shame; you’re not a proper lawman without it,” Kent remarked, his tone dry.

Gavin barked a laugh at that and shook his head. Kent tried to ignore the way his heart lightened at the laugh; he smiled fleetingly to himself, anyways.

Returning to his hotel room in Fort Collins was strange, with no Gavin to look after or spend most of his time with. It had been from horrible circumstances, but their lifestyle in Livermore became a routine, and Kent had grown rather comfortable with it. He had a spacious bed all to himself in the hotel, and yet he missed sharing the small bed with Gavin. Even if they’d been divided by layers of bedsheets and were just lying next to each other with no true intimacy, Kent missed having Gavin’s side pressed against his own as they held whispered, mundane conversations. With Gavin stuck on desk duty, there were no horse races or bounty partnerships to be had, and after capturing two petty criminals he had run out of the most immediate targets in the county.

As he’d done before Murphy, Kent sat in the hotel bar one evening and decided it was time for him to leave. This time, for real. Head up north, leave Gavin behind. He was a traveling man, he couldn’t just stay in one area as a bounty hunter, and he couldn’t just pine after the sheriff’s deputy forever, either. Kent had to move on, accept that nothing would ever happen between them, keep his feelings hidden until they faded away. He’d been a bachelor for many years, and it suited him well. Kent wasn’t made to be someone’s lover anymore, even if a small part of him unhardened by his lifestyle desperately, beyond anything else, wanted to be more to Gavin.

The following day, he went to the Sheriff’s Office with a weight settled in his gut. When he told Gavin he’d be leaving that next morning for the Montana Territory, the deputy’s expression became indecipherable, and he glanced down as he sat at his desk. The brim of his new hat, so like the previous one, hid his face when he nodded shortly. “Makes sense, you’d run out of targets eventually,” he muttered, and Kent couldn’t help but notice the way his voice faltered. It didn’t make him feel any better.

Kent turned to leave, but Gavin spoke up again. “You know where my house is?” he heard the scraping of pen ink on paper as the deputy continued his paperwork.

Kent turned back toward him. “No.”

“It’s northwest, towards Bellvue. Up on the ridge between there and here. Little white house with an old barn in front, and a pasture next to the road leading up.” He glanced up at Kent and intently handed him a piece of paper with the address. “You’d better swing by before you leave.”

Kent nodded. “I will. Promise.”

The horizon began to change color when he left the hotel for the last time, all packed up and finished with his morning routine. When he rode to Gavin’s house, Kent found it easily enough, and any doubts that he somehow got the wrong house were soon proven wrong. Kent had barely knocked on the front door before it opened, and Gavin stood before him. He stepped out onto the porch, dressed for another day at work.

“So, this is it, huh?” Gavin asked.

“Yeah.” Kent had never been good at goodbyes, or anything sentimental for that matter. Especially when it involved the man before him, who’d somehow gone from being one of the most abrasive presences he’d ever met to a strangely endearing one to someone he loved. Even if it was in secret.

Kent extended his hand out to Gavin, and he scoffed, but took it. They shook hands as Gavin gently chastised, his voice rougher than normal, “Jesus, you ever said goodbye to someone before, old man?” He stepped away from Kent and crossed his arms.

“Been a while.”

Gavin looked away, and his hat hid most of his face. In a hoarser tone, he stated: “Remember. Use common sense, and shoot first if you can help it.”

“You too, Gav.” Kent replied. He turned and walked down the porch; his boots collided with the dirt road. Somehow, he kept himself moving forward, to where Mara stood waiting for him.

Though there was a weight in his body that tried to pull him back, towards the familiarity of Gavin, he mounted his horse, turned, and cantered away. He wanted to look back, to see if Gavin was watching him leave, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. If he did, he’d just give in, rush back, pull Gavin into his arms, tell him all the things he’d wanted to say but couldn’t.

_Even though you were an asshole at first, I’m glad I met you._

_Thank you for shooting those bandits. And Sutherland. You saved my life._

_I wish I’d protected you better._

_I was so scared you were going to die._

_I’m glad you’re alive._

_You wound up being one of the best things to happen to me in years._

_I want to stay._

_I love you._

Mara cantered off the ridge, past Bellvue, where the townspeople had begun to go about their day, and then north, towards the Montana Territory. The weight settled in Kent’s stomach, and he couldn’t ignore it.

As he raced along the road that he and Gavin had traversed together in their hunt for Murphy, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was leaving a part of himself behind. He blamed the sting in his eyes and the lump that settled in his throat on the cold morning air Mara was cantering through. Kent told himself it was about time he moved forward with his life, that there was no way he could stay in Fort Collins.

Still, Kent hoped his path would cross with Gavin’s again. The country was vast, and their lives were unpredictable, but in the depths of his heart he wondered if it was possible.


	14. Separation & Kent's Letters

Kent brought the glass of whiskey to his lips and sipped it slowly. It didn’t burn as he swallowed it down; instead, there was a faint bite to it. Kent listened to the rowdy conversations of the patrons in the saloon and had begun to contemplate ordering another shot when the bartender turned towards another patron. He recognized the patron; the portly, red-headed miner from Colorado.

The bartender’s silver mustache and square face caught Kent off guard. A hazy memory of cold mornings patrolling streets worn down from the hooves of horses and wheels alike crossed his mind.

Kent frowned down at his empty shot glass. The memory was routine, yet as he tried to think more about the details and how the bartender was associated with it, he couldn’t.

The bartender had walked away while he was lost in his thoughts, and Kent glanced around the dim room, where the shadowed figures of men milled about.

He focused on a painting of wild horses, next to an elegantly framed mirror, when a conversation emerged from the array of voices.

“- hear what happened down in Larimer County?” A gruff voice asked.

Kent froze with his hand clenched to the shot glass.

“I haven’t,” a separate voice drawled in reply.

"Lawmen had a nasty shootout with four of the Mitchell gang. A couple on both sides died; I heard from a friend two of the lawmen died.”

Kent’s heart plummeted. He jerkily stood up and stepped away from the bar, tossing the tab onto the counter. He shoved past ornately carved chairs full of rugged men at stained, rickety tables, and the next thing he knew he was outside the door, in the gas-lit street.

His footsteps carried him down the sidewalk, though he felt nothing. The front page of a newspaper, posted in a shop window, caught his eye.

The headline read “Multiple Lives Lost in Mitchell Gang Shootout” and, nestled amongst the muddled text, was a list of names. Kent stepped closer to inspect it, his nerves electrified.

“Gavin Reed” was the second one listed, and Kent’s heart stopped.

He fell to his knees, his legs giving out, and the ground gave way beneath him as he screamed wordlessly. Everything went black; he kept falling, falling, falling...

Kent woke up, a strangled “Gavin!” on his lips. He sat up in the bed covered in sweat, his throat raw from screaming Gavin’s name. The coldness of the room closed in on him, and he buried his face in his hands, fingers combing back his dampened hair.

As he forced his breath to even out, he told himself it was just a dream, over and over. It didn’t make any sense, after all. He was in the Montana Territory, and the more industrial world of Detroit was a distant aspect of his past.

The hotel room was darkened in the winter night, and Kent shivered. He brought his arms around himself; cold fingers tracing over his warmer arms in an attempt at reassurance. Though he knew the part about Gavin dying was a part of the nightmare, it was completely possible. Being a Sheriff’s Deputy was a volatile, dangerous occupation, and Gavin was bound to know that. The confrontation with Murphy was testament enough, and Kent stopped his vivid memories of how Gavin was so swiftly struck down by the outlaw.

Despite the unease that persisted, Kent settled back into his life as a professional bounty hunter, the way it was before he met Gavin. Arrive in some town or city, settle into a hotel for most of the time. Have lawmen regard him with suspicion, believing him to be amongst the bounty hunters known for being backstabbing, black-hearted, sorry excuses of human beings. Return the suspicious stares of lawmen in stride and mind his own damn business. From all that, be mostly left alone. Ride through countless open spaces astride Mara, his only familiar companion since he retired Tristesse, the beloved mare that helped define his career as a bounty hunter. The landscapes always changed from state to state, but Mara remained the same. As toughened as he was, and as loyal as ever.

There was a level of comfort to letting his heart ice over again. Without Gavin around, he didn’t get into partial arguments with colleagues, or race Mara to the next target or destination. He didn’t do so for fun, for that matter.

Like before Gavin, his life became all about bounties, himself, his horse, and his guns. The things that’d held constant ever since he’d left his old life in Detroit.

Kent returned to the usual cycle. Discover a bounty, find leads, track down, confront. Turn them in dead or alive after tossing them on the back of Mara, to the relief or annoyance of local lawmen. The lawmen he did occasionally collaborate with varied between a range of aloof politeness to thinly veiled spite. Nothing like how Gavin had been to him as they grew to be friends and respect each other. These ones he couldn’t trust. If an outlaw punched him in the face in their presence, they wouldn’t immediately rush to defend him; not the way Gavin had.

Most of the bounties he caught, as per usual, were petty criminals. Shoplifters. Flaky, cowardly honey-foglers. Cattle rustlers, horse thieves, serial saloon brawlers. They were a source of income, for certain. Compared to the true outlaws he’d dealt with, they felt more like busywork than anything else.

Even with his renewed routine, his thoughts strayed back to Larimer County, to Fort Collins, to Gavin.

Sometimes it was as he rode back to town with a bounty on his horse. When he listened to their pointless death threats or flimsy excuses for their actions, he often wished Gavin was there to witness it; or they could cynically laugh over it later. How gladly he’d take Gavin’s friendly jabs over any other type of interaction; how nice it’d be for Gavin to speak to him again, to hear “Kent” or “old man” from that boastful voice of his. To see one of his smug, lopsided grins once more, and pretend it didn’t lighten his heart to witness it.

Other times it was as he rode between destinations and wished Gavin would come galloping up on his horse and start goading him, challenging him to a horse race. Or he wanted Gavin riding alongside him, providing quiet companionship.

The cold that sank into the land with the onset of fall didn’t help. As he lay on his bedroll or in a hotel room alone, he often thought back to Gavin. How nice it would be to have him by his side again, resting quietly and conversing as they drifted to sleep. To know, with no mystery involved, that Gavin was still safe and alive.

Whenever the distant battlefield or Gavin’s possible death fueled his most intense nightmares, he longed for Gavin to be close. If that were the case, he could pull Gavin into his arms and fall back asleep, as content as could be.

After three weeks in the Montana territory, he admitted to himself, following a couple drinks in one evening, that he didn’t leave his feelings behind in Colorado like he’d naively hoped. He missed Gavin, and his feelings for the younger man weren’t going to just leave him. What he felt wasn’t one of those fluttering crushes he’d experienced as a boy, it didn’t even hold a candle to the past feelings of love he’d held as a young man. It was deeper than that. He should have known so the moment he wanted to whisper “I love you” to Gavin, when he was deathly scared the lawman wasn’t going to pull through. Kent knew he should’ve stopped, confessed it to Gavin after his passive goodbye and before he rode away, the way he’d wanted to. If Kent had truly listened to himself from the beginning, he’d never have left Larimer County.

When he made his way up to his hotel room that night, he pulled out the little folded piece of paper he’d tucked into a hidden pocket of his coat, nestled alongside a worn family portrait from when he was sixteen. He opened it as he sat on the bed, glancing over Gavin’s home address that’d been scrawled down after he’d learnt Kent was leaving. The sight of it, just as every other time, alit something in him.

He traveled too much to receive letters easily. Hell, even telegrams could be a struggle with how often he moved around. His thrice-removed cousin had to send him a fifth telegram in order to inform Kent that his only sister had died.

Gavin, on the other hand, lived in the same house, and he likely wouldn’t be moving any time soon. Kent could send him a one-way letter; explain his accumulated feelings and apologize. Move onwards with his life, out into the great unknown, and be none the wiser if Gavin never reciprocated. Or, more likely, he’d be detached from Gavin’s horror that another man is attracted to him, despite their intriguing dynamics. Especially an older, emotionally reserved man in a job where he never knew if the present day would be his last. If Gavin was enraged over this piece of information, Kent could steer clear of Larimer County, even Colorado, for the rest of his life. The nation was large, and he had plenty of land to travel. He’d be unaffected by the deputy’s indifference, or worse yet, disgust at Kent’s attraction to him.

The whiskey wasn’t needed for him to know that if Gavin rejected his feelings and felt offended, Kent’s heart would thoroughly break. He would continue with his life, bury himself into his job once and for all, and be numbed to any and all emotional intimacy for a long time, maybe the rest of his life at that rate.

When he settled into bed that night, alone, he resolved to try and send a letter the following day. One letter while he was between bounties. He didn’t need to receive the answer to it, though he wanted to know beyond anything else. If anything, to know Gavin was still there, patrolling Larimer County in one piece even if he didn’t reciprocate. From sending the letter, he’d have some closure, and could continue being a relentless bounty hunter, too old to truly settle down or grow close to anyone.

~ ~ ~

He tried to write and send the single letter to Gavin. It didn’t work.

The day after he decided to write a letter, Kent sat at the desk in his little room and stared out at the rolling, dry landscape around the town.

He recalled, with a faded weight of grief, when his sister gifted him a journal and pen for his twelfth birthday. It had caught him off guard. Somehow, Jocelyn had scraped together enough money to get him that, though money had been as scarce as ever for their family with his father gone. In hindsight, it seemed natural she’d choose that. She’d been so determined to become a schoolteacher, though it’d never happened.

When he’d looked at her, bewildered, she’d just told him, “you should write for yourself, Kenny. Keep a journal like I do. Write down your thoughts from time to time. Your feelings, too, ‘cause I know you have ‘em. You don’t ever have to share it. Write about Pa even if it hurts a bit, write about the idiots that come to the gunsmith’s, or the horse races you’ve won. Write about anything you want. It’d be good for you, I bet.”

He’d followed her advice at first, until it was too difficult to keep up with in his spare time. The little journal became stowed away in some corner of their attic, and was probably still stuck there, even after his relatives reclaimed his family home.

Decades later, he wished that he’d made a habit of it. It could’ve made his life so much easier, trying to express his feelings on paper effectively.

He hadn’t written a love letter since his twenties. And with Gavin… it was different from the past. Before he was simply writing about bubbly, lovestruck feelings involved with fleeting crushes; and his feelings for the sheriff’s deputy went far deeper than that. Yes, there were fluttery feelings involved; but they’d also grown to be friends, to trust each other and form a bond. All he knew was that to write out his feelings, he’d have to let down his guard, express his innermost thoughts that’d been so hard for him to define and admit to himself in the first place. And he wasn’t sure if he could manage that, even for Gavin.

_Gavin, 10/02/89_

_We went through a lot together._

_We started off-_

Kent paused mid-sentence. What the hell was he doing? Obviously, Gavin would remember how they started off on the wrong foot. Unless he’d already forgotten all about Kent, which was a thought he really couldn’t bear to keep.

He sat there and scowled at the mostly blank sheet of paper as he considered his next words. Kent was stumped on how to continue, and with his thoughts too disorganized he crumpled it up and tossed it into the fireplace. He huffed in frustration and realized he’d have to plan his words beforehand.

He tried again a few days later, when he’d considered what he could say as he rode around the area and gathered leads on a horse thief.

Kent sat at the desk again and began to write.

_Deputy Reed, 10/05/89_

_I hope that this letter finds you well. I’m writing to-_

Kent stopped again. Christ, that was way too formal. It was a _love letter_ , not a fucking business inquiry.

It, too, wound up in the fireplace.

He tried to write in different environments. Amid a forest that overlooked the town of Helena, as Mara dozed off by where he sat on a tree stump. In the saloon, when the liquor started to relax him. In the hotel bar, with the background noise of boisterous patrons.

None of them worked. He couldn’t even get past the first sentence.

One night in the saloon, he got more drunk than he’d been in years, to calm his nerves to the point he wouldn’t care about expressing his feelings. When he tried to sit down and word out his thoughts in his room, he still froze up and was unable to complete the letter. The way his head spun didn’t help, either.

The hangover wasn’t worth it. Besides, when he tried to read the letter the next morning, his handwriting was indecipherable.

It took two weeks to get past the opening sentence on a letter attempt, when he was sober. Kent finally succeeded as he sat under a tree next to a stream.

He took one read through the words and shredded the letter. Kent scattered the pieces into the water and let the current carry it away. The act of writing didn’t make him feel any more at peace.

After he spent some time and pondered it as he worked throughout the day, he tried again.

 _Gavin,_ _10/22/89_

_I hope you’re well. I’m writing this because there’s something I’ve meant to confess to you but couldn’t bring myself to do, until now._

_During my time in Fort Collins, you and I went through a lot in the short time we knew each other._

_I understand if you hate me for this, but I realize now that somewhere along the way I fell in love with you._

_~~Yours eternally~~ _ _Sincerely,_

_Kenton Allen_

It wound up in the fire too. It was a lie, after all. He’d known he loved Gavin well before he’d left, he’d just been too stubborn to define it for what it was. Until he was terrified that he’d lose Gavin for good.

He tried again after he chased down a thief for a whole day. When he finally arrived back at the hotel that night, he defeatedly collapsed in the desk chair and began to write.

_Dearest Gavin, 10/30/89_

_I know we didn’t get off to the best start. I despised you when we first met, as much as you likely despised me. But then, things changed._

_You barreled in to shoot those bandits that’d ambushed me. You killed Sutherland. We became a competent team, taking down outlaws together._

_When we hunted down Gregor Murphy together, I realized something-_

He froze up before he could talk about Gavin’s fever. It’d cut him too deep, and the anguish he’d felt when taking care of Gavin wasn’t softened by time yet. If he wrote out those feelings… he’d likely lose emotional control, like he did whenever his memory of the battlefield hospital returned in too much detail. He wasn’t ready for that. Realistically, he never would be.

The paper made excellent kindling for the frigid night.

The letter attempts became more difficult to write, and Kent tensed up every time he wrote them, no matter how much he strived to relax and simply express himself through writing. After he relocated southeast to Bozeman, he tried again.

_Gavin, 11/08/89_

_I miss you._

_I miss our horse races, the way you poked fun at my age (I’m not that old, jackass, I’m only 42), the way you made fun of me for shaving every morning (I’m not a ‘city slicker’ either, I was born and raised in fucking Iowa), your criticism of my aim (I didn’t hit Connelly so he could get scared and you could catch him- you know that, right?)_

It wound up being carried away by another stream as the ink dissolved in the water. Too indirect.

_Gavin, 11/17/89_

_I should have told you this a while ago, before I left Fort Collins._

_I love you._

The letter was thrown to the flames of another fireplace. Way too direct.

In his last attempt at a letter, he finally began to let his guard down. He scribbled his thoughts by the soft light of a lantern, frustrated with himself and unwilling to slow his words and lose courage over doing something so trivial. He, a bounty hunter, was frozen up over writing a fucking letter, after all.

_Gavin, 11/29/89_

_I hope that you’re well. After you read through this, I understand if you’re repulsed by me. I know that it’s wrong for me to feel this way. I know that even if you’re attracted to men, I’m too old and at risk of dying to be of any interest._

_But you have the right to know that during my stay at Fort Collins, I fell in love with you. And if you haven’t stopped reading this by now, I owe you an explanation for burdening you with this confession._

_I know that at the beginning, we started off despising each other entirely. And, to an extent, I can understand why you didn’t like me around. I’ve been slighted by other bounty hunters myself, had targets sabotaged from me, even gotten into scrapes with godawful excuses for “colleagues.” My current profession doesn’t have the best reputation, and it can be for good reason._

_But then we started interacting more, and my opinions toward you changed._

_I found your obnoxious, lopsided grin to be charming after a while._

_I began to look forward to when you’d appear out of nowhere and annoy me into horse racing._

_Though you’re a bit of a jackass and will likely stay that way, I’ve started to like that about you. You can be stubborn and hard-headed, like me. And it’s not always a bad thing._

_Your jabs and teasing grew to be amusing._

_You started to listen to me more. And from that and all the other shit we went through together, I realized that I could trust you. That’s something I haven’t had in years. Not since I was a lawman, and you’re better than my former colleagues ever were._

_Even when we weren’t on good terms, you protected me. From those bandits that ambushed me, from Sutherland, those miners. Who knows, maybe I’d have met my end in Larimer County if it wasn’t for you._

_We excelled at working together, even without verbal communication. That kind of coordination and efficiency is something I haven’t experienced since my lawman days._

_Hearing you say my name always did something to my heart, like the lovestruck fool ~~I was~~ that I’ve become. Even ‘old man’ once you stopped being such an asshole to me. It grew on me._

_I think you’ve made your peace, or at least took my point, with Murphy being killed. Over everything that happened that night we found him… I’m so sorry._

_I’m sorry you were shot, and that I failed to protect you. I’m sorry I didn’t rush you to Livermore fast enough, and that the tourniquets failed you. I’m sorry the surgeon fucked up your surgery on the first try- I couldn’t even keep you safe from that, and that’s something that’ll always haunt me, Gavin. Your fever afterwards… was something very similar to what I endured following a botched surgery. I couldn’t stand seeing you suffer the way I did as a young man. Scared, alone, delirious. You didn’t deserve any of that. I can only hope that you were in less agony than I was, and you knew that someone cared about you. And still does._

_Lastly, I’m sorry that I love you. I tried so hard to not give in to my feelings, but they persisted, and I need to confess them to you before I move onwards._

_I’m glad I met you, and I value the friendship we had more than I can easily describe. You gave me companionship in those two or so months so much stronger and deeper than anything I’ve had in years, and I’ll always be grateful for that._

_\- Kent Allen_

It, too, was thrown into the flames. Kent read through it and loathed the lump that began to form in his throat. He couldn’t bring himself to send it. There was too much vulnerability, and not enough closure to come out of his heart being opened like that.

He stopped his attempts at writing the letters and decided to focus on his work instead. It didn’t do anything to change his feelings.

~ ~ ~

The worst of the winter settled into Montana, and Kent did what he could for bounty hunting. When he lay in his bed or in his tent and tried not to shiver despite all the layers he wore, his thoughts still strayed to Gavin regularly. How much he missed him, how intensely his feelings remained, how he should’ve stayed by his side. Occasionally, images of Gavin dying took the place of his typical nightmares, and the idea of racing back down to Fort Collins to check on him tempted Kent often.

Finally, in late January, four months after he arrived in Montana, he couldn’t take it anymore. The bounties and activity in Bozeman and the surrounding areas were waning, and it was time he moved onwards. He knew he could move west, towards the Idaho Territory and Oregon, or eastward towards the past familiarities of Iowa and Michigan. When his thoughts strayed to Gavin and Fort Collins, he made up his mind.

He’d just ride through, on his way to the New Mexico Territory to cover new ground and find new bounties. Stop in Fort Collins on the way, visit Gavin, confess to him in person since letters had been such a dead end. If Gavin loathed him or chased him out of Larimer County, he could just keep riding and riding until he left Gavin’s rejection and his own broken heart behind. Either way, he could leave, move forward with his life, not be trapped wallowing in an emptiness left by separation from the sheriff’s deputy. He was still in love with a man whom he’d known for all of a few months, after all. Even if in those few months they’d protected each other, brought in bounties together, traveled side by side, and become convoluted friends.

The ride from Bozeman through the Territory of Wyoming was a blur of browns, tans, snow, and biting cold spread across the land. Kent and Mara pressed onwards and kept up a swift pace. He was grateful as ever for the resilience and endurance of his horse.

As he rode over the course of several days, Kent thought over what he’d say to Gavin. Enough that when Virginia Dale came into sight, he’d decided he’d just bluntly tell Gavin, “I’ve developed feelings for you, and they haven’t faded with time or distance.” After all, he was good at being blunt, detached. He wouldn’t have made it as a lawman or bounty hunter otherwise. There wasn’t much room for feelings in such a life, and they’d never been Kent’s strong point even as a child.

Maybe it was because of the tumultuous winds that picked up and the dying light with the early sunset, but Mara’s ears seemed to perk up as they rode into Bellvue, and she began to glance around with interest. Despite his many layers, there was a cold wind that pierced through him, and flurries began to fall against his face where it wasn’t covered. The ridge valley where Gavin’s home was seemed to provide some protection from the unforgiving winds, and as some of the discomfort went away Kent felt a lightness in his heart at the sight of the little white house, warm, welcoming lights on behind the windows.

A rush of adrenaline, similar to when he was working, began as he rode Mara up the little road to the house. His horse seemed oblivious to how tense he’d become as he dismounted and lead her on foot into the little barn. Both Mephisto and Hellfire dozed in it, sheltered from the worst of the winds, and the sight of the familiar horses relaxed him a little. He tied Mara’s lead rope to a stall ring and fed her a treat before he began to trek out towards the house.

The short walk up to Gavin’s house felt like an eternity, as Kent recited what he’d say in his head.

‘ _I developed feelings for you, and they didn’t fade with time or distance.’_

_Or maybe ‘I like you’? Wait, no, I can’t do that. We’re not schoolchildren._

_‘You should know that I developed feelings for you, and they haven’t left me.’_

_No, that’s much too casual. I need to be blunt about this. ‘I’ve had feelings for you, since before I left.’_

_‘I’ve had feelings for you, since before I left.’ Just a simple sentence, I can do that._

As he stepped onto the porch and out of the worst of the wind, Kent removed his hat and scarf. He combed back his hair to ensure it was slicked back the usual way, the motion an attempt to calm his nerves. It didn’t really help.

When his fist hovered over the door, the doubts from his long, multi-day ride from Bozeman returned, and he genuinely acknowledged them as his heart beat faster.

It had been so long, in reality. Four months since he’d last seen Gavin.

Did he even remember him?

What if he was with someone, or engaged? He hadn’t seen any hints of that before he left, but that could’ve changed.

Would he even want to see him again, especially after all this time?

Would any good come out of this?

He took a deep breath, let it out, and reminded himself that this was for closure, a sense of finality to save himself from further stress and some heartbreak. Kent knocked on the door and stepped back, securely holding his hat and rolling his shoulders back.

There was the creak of floorboards and faint grumbling as someone stepped up to the other side of the door.

“What do you-“ a rugged and familiar voice spoke as it opened. The question died as Gavin stepped into the threshold and locked eyes with Kent. His expression changed to disbelief.


	15. Reunited

Seeing Gavin again, all of Kent’s thoughts disappeared, except for one: _Thank God, he’s still alive_.

Gavin didn’t look much different. He had the same rough stubble, slightly disheveled hair, and relaxed fashion habits. Before Kent could stop himself, he thought Gavin was beautiful.

Gavin’s beginning of a smile was playful. “Caught all the outlaws in Montana already, huh?”

He breathed out a small laugh, relieved that Gavin wasn’t going to turn him away… yet. “You know outlaws. My work is never done.”

Gavin opened the door and waved Kent in. “Christ, it’s cold. C’mon, no freezin’ on my front porch.”

After a moment of hesitation, he stepped in, and Gavin closed the door behind them.

“Shit. I haven’t had guests in some time… you, uh, want a drink or somethin’?” Gavin asked, heading for the kitchen.

“Water’s fine. It’s so damn dry out,” Kent called after as he began to remove his coat, already feeling a bit warm inside the house. He placed it and his hat by the door, where it’d be easy to grab if he needed to run for it. Without a hat to fidget with in an unusual bout of nervousness, he crossed his arms, and the fabric of his shirt crumpled beneath his fingers as he pinched at it. With a few steadier breaths like when he readied himself for a confrontation, he relaxed a bit.

Gavin returned from the kitchen and froze when he saw Kent. “You still cold?”

Kent shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“Well don’t just stand there, old man, make yourself comfortable,” Gavin chided gently and gestured at the couch in front of the fireplace.

He walked over and sat down on the farthest end. Gavin sat at the opposite side and handed over the glass of water. Kent took it with a quiet, “thanks,” and drank down most of it.

Gavin lounged back into the couch and looked over at him. Noticing how tensely Kent sat, he remarked, “you even been a house guest before? Relax, Kent.”

“I’ve been a house guest, jackass. I’m usually more intrusive and unwanted. Detaining outlaws and questioning people doesn’t make me popular,” Kent explained, settling back.

“Same for me. Anyways, what, uh,” there was an uncharacteristic hesitation in his voice before he asked, “what brought you back here?”

Kent knew he should tell Gavin. Explain everything, apologize, ready himself for a swift exit when Gavin would be repulsed. But he couldn’t get his voice to work for that, and instead he gave a detached explanation as he watched the flames flicker. “Just passing through. I’m going down to the New Mexico Territory next.”

“Going to shoot more outlaws down there?” Gavin teased. Though Kent kept his focus on the flames, he could visualize the start of one of his asymmetrical grins.

“Yeah.” Kent replied. Dryly, he added, “but first I had to make sure you didn’t suffer an undignified end without me around.”

“Hey, I haven’t been thrown off either of my horses in months!” Gavin protested in mock defense.

“And, miraculously, you didn’t mis-step hunting either. I’m impressed,” Kent half complimented.

“I’m a good hunter. I wouldn’t expect a city slicker like you to know.”

Kent shook his head, suppressing a chuckle at his teasing, and looked back over at him. “Really? Who the fuck goes after rabbits with a _slingshot_?”

Gavin shrugged. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Kent scoffed, but told him, “yeah. I still don’t know how the hell it did, though.”

“I’ve got skills. So bold of you to make comments like that when you use an old as hell repeater. And you think _my_ weapon preferences are strange?”

“What’d you expect from an old man like me? To stay with the times?” Kent questioned lightly before he finished the glass of water.

Gavin huffed a laugh. After a pause, he remarked, “I haven’t raced with anyone in months. It’s fuckin’ boring. If a slab-sided man like you can agree to horse racing on the job, why can’t they?”

“They’re probably scared of your horses.”

Gavin grinned, proud as ever of his fancy horses. “Could be. They’re six-shooter horses.”

“…or they don’t want to go back to Fowler without you and explain you got thrown off and injured in some horse race.”

He scoffed at Kent’s comment and they settled into a comfortable silence. It was almost like he’d never left.

Though Kent sat and gazed at the fire and thought over how he should speak his thoughts, he still couldn’t. If he did, he’d destroy the comfort and familiarity he felt being with Gavin again. He wanted to have that nice moment from their friendship, before he left with an empty heart. Kent looked over at him and asked, “your wounds heal up well?”

Gavin’s hand instinctively went up to his right shoulder and his fingers brushed against his shirt. “Yeah, thank God. Desk work was torture.”

“Good.” Kent replied with a nod. He looked back ahead at the fire.

He felt Gavin shift a bit on the couch, and when he looked over again, he could see the younger man’s eyes on him, watching him with guarded interest. Gavin remarked, “you know… I wasn’t totally unconscious during that fever.”

His unexpectedly flat words jolted Kent’s heart, and he didn’t know how to feel about it. Kent worried that Gavin was offended over his attempts at comfort and wondered if he’d crossed a line. Though he wanted to look over towards the door and ready himself for a swift exit, he stayed put. Kent’s question was neutral, to hide the immense fear of uncertainty that weighed him down. “What do you remember?”

“I remember your voice, mostly…” Gavin began as he moved closer to Kent and stared down at the floor, brows furrowed in focus. Kent tried to calm himself as a lightness took over his chest. The hopeful part of him wondered if that meant something better than he’d expected. “I swear you held my hand, too. Looked after me. Is that what happened?” He looked over at Kent, confused.

There was no point in lying to him. Kent sighed, nodded, and admitted, “yeah. That’s what happened.” His voice lowered when he added, “you… you weren’t doing so well. I thought…” Kent’s voice cracked on the word, and his sentence faded off. With his feigned detachment gone, he looked away from Gavin, ashamed.

“What?” Gavin asked, voice still neutral. Kent couldn’t finish the sentence as his memories of those dreadful four days came back. “Kent?” Gavin asked, quiet, a hint of fear to his name.

Kent swallowed down the lump in his throat and avoided Gavin’s gaze. He couldn’t face him full-on; not when he was vulnerable like this. God, he’d become such a sorry excuse for a man.

Gavin sat closer to him, where Kent could see him in his periphery as he watched the fireplace. “Kent. Tell me. _Please_ ,” his voice broke with the plead, and Kent couldn’t ignore that.

Hoarsely, he whispered, “I thought…that you weren’t going to make it. That you were going to die.”

Gavin moved his hand and slowly settled it over Kent’s. Kent glanced back over at him, surprised, as a warmth blossomed in his heart. “If you hadn’t jumped into action and rushed me down to Livermore, I surely would’ve.”

That night came back to Kent, and he couldn’t stop himself from unsteadily rambling, “one of the tourniquets got loose on the ride down. I’m sorry Gavin, I failed you… you passed out, I should’ve-“

Gavin’s interruption was stern. “Don’t say that. You’re apologizing for nothing.” Yet his expression was the gentlest Kent had ever seen it, and despite how captivated he was at that, Kent couldn’t hold his gaze. “You didn’t fail me, you never have. Remember the shotgun in my face? If it wasn’t for you, I’d probably have taken a faceful of buckshot.”

Kent closed his eyes. He tried to fight away the oncoming tears he felt and dreaded. Gavin was being so gentle and kind to him when he’d only expected harshness or emotional detachment, and it only intensified his feelings for him. Any further protest and he was bound to lose control once and for all; tell Gavin everything in an incoherent mess. Vulnerable as he was in that moment, he couldn’t let it go further.

“You saved my life, you know that, Kent?” He wrapped his fingers around Kent’s hand and squeezed it. Kent’s eyes fluttered open at the gesture. “I’ll always be grateful for that.”

Kent decided to be bold, and he turned his hand over, beginning to intertwine their fingers. Gavin’s gaze was watchful, but he didn’t move away, and he nestled his fingers amongst Kent’s as they genuinely held each other’s hand. He focused on how Gavin’s callus-roughened hand scraped and settled against his own. “It was the least I could do for you,” Kent whispered, voice thick with emotion.

“And you stayed by my side, too,” Gavin murmured, looking down at their hands on the couch in awe. “Held my hand. Took care of me. Talked to me.”

Kent nodded. “I couldn’t leave you.”

“Most other people would’ve.” He pointed out.

“Gavin-“ Kent began in protest.

He continued to explain calmly, “I know I’m an asshole. I know I’ve got barely any friends. I know the citizens of Larimer County prefer most other lawmen over me. You’re aware too. You remember how we started off.”

“Of course.” Kent recalled Olsen’s corpse and how repulsed he’d felt at the deputy’s furious shouts, the memory already so distant. “We’ve come a long way from that,” he reflected.

“Yeah, we have.” He ran his thumb over the back of Kent’s hand and gazed at him, a warmth resonating from his face and the firelight alike. With nothing but reverence, he added, “you… you’re somethin’ else, Kent.”

Kent squeezed his hand and he replied without hesitation, “so are you, Gav.”

Gavin swallowed and moved his other hand. Kent froze, unsure of what he was going to do. He kept a close eye on Gavin as he brought his hand up to Kent’s face, and the pads of Gavin’s fingers brushed over his left cheek, along a recently healed scar. Gavin looked him in the eye before he blushed and focused his attention back on the scar, inquisitive. “How’d that happen?” he asked, curious.

With how distracted he was by Gavin’s gentle touch, Kent took a few moments to process his question. Roughly, he managed, “knife. Violent snoozer.” The confrontation in the muddy streets of Helena and the rage and pain he’d felt at being sliced by some thief breaking into _his_ room of all places didn’t matter anymore. All he could pay attention to was how soft and careful Gavin’s touch was as he traced over the scar. When Gavin’s fingers began to roam the rest of his face, Kent leaned into his touch, content to be in the moment forever as he saw such a tender side of Gavin.

Gavin observed with keen fascination as his pointer finger traced over the path of a long-faded scar on Kent’s nose. He realized it was shaped like Gavin’s prominent nose scar, right before Gavin remarked with a small, fleeting smile, “huh. It’s like mine.”

“Guess so,” Kent replied. He began to wonder if, perhaps, what he felt wasn’t as one-sided as he’d assumed. Since his attempts at words had gone nowhere, he decided to reach out his free hand. Gently, he took ahold of Gavin’s arm.

The deputy’s eyes glimmered, and he moved his hand to cup Kent’s face. He ran his thumb along his smooth jaw. “You fuckin’ city slicker,” he remarked with so much fondness that Kent felt a warmth and confidence swell up within him. He let go of Gavin’s hand and wrapped his arm around his waist, studying Gavin’s expression as his heart thundered furiously.

None of this felt real. It was so idyllic; too idyllic. His recurring doubts pestered him again, telling him Gavin couldn’t reciprocate his feelings.

Yet as Gavin gazed at him in awe, he realized just how possible it was. Gavin wrapped his arm around his back, and Kent pulled him in closer. So close, he could feel Gavin’s breath against his lips, how warm he was in the small space left between them.

Gavin watched him with a hint of caution as Kent moved his hand from Gavin’s arm to his face. He imitated what Gavin had done and gazed at Gavin as he traced his fingers over his stubble. The facial hair scraped along his finger pads and sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. Gavin’s eyes darkened slightly as he felt it, his fingers digging into the back of Kent’s vest.

Kent tried to stay even and controlled, but his breath seemed to escape him as the proximity to Gavin caught up to him. How Gavin _reciprocated_ being close, how pleasant Gavin’s secure yet gentle touch was.

As Kent traced his finger over Gavin’s nose scar, Gavin remarked with realization, “this isn’t just a stop in your travels…” His eyes locked with Kent’s, and he asked with a hint of fear, “…is it?”

Kent felt himself flush a little, and he confessed, “no. It isn’t.” He dropped his hand and wrapped his arm around Gavin’s waist.

Gavin contemplated this in silence while his thumb caressed Kent’s cheek, over the scarred spot where the razor had nicked him the morning he’d bounced back from his fever. Kent realized how gorgeous his murky gray eyes were in the lighting, now that he could look at them and take his time doing so.

His thumb continued to roam, until it halted at the corner of Kent’s mouth. Gavin’s glance settled down at his lips, and Kent wished he’d continue with the motion. Instead, Gavin’s hand moved down to the side of his neck, his fingertips nestling in Kent’s hair.

Any remaining fears that Kent’s feelings were unreturned vanished as Gavin’s eyes fluttered shut and he leaned in on his own.

Gavin brushed his lips against Kent’s, and he froze for a moment, his body electrified by the touch. Kent kissed him back, matching the gentle touch and marveling at how soft Gavin’s lips were. The kiss was over too quickly, and when Gavin pulled away he observed Kent, waiting for his reaction.

Without hesitation, Kent pulled him back in and their noses bumped together as he closed the gap between them, desperate for more. Gavin breathed out a laugh before he tilted his head and kissed him back, his arms wrapping securely around Kent.

They both grasped at each other’s clothing and bit at each other’s lips as they clashed over control at first. Several times after they’d pulled apart only to swoop back to each other’s lips, they began to alternate. When Gavin’s stubble prickled against Kent’s face, he sighed in unrestrained contentment at such a rugged yet pleasurable sensation, and Gavin gladly took his opportunity to deepen the kiss. To his delight, Kent found that when his fingers brushed against the crook of Gavin’s neck, his breath hitched softly, and on instinct he pulled Kent closer into the little space left between them.

For that duration of time, all that mattered to Kent was Gavin. How soft his lips were, how he tasted of faint tobacco. The way Gavin’s facial hair felt against his own clean-shaven face; how he relaxed in Kent’s arms when he kissed him deeply and his hands roamed Gavin’s face and neck. It fueled Kent’s desire to continue, to stay this close to him forever.

In order to breathe, Kent pulled away with reluctance, his arms settling back around Gavin’s waist. Gavin, just as breathless, planted a lone kiss to the corner of his mouth. He pressed his forehead to Kent’s, closing his eyes and whispering an elated, “holy shit.” His fingers settled in Kent’s hair, and he began to brush back where it’d been ruffled.

When he’d caught his breath, Kent kissed him again, slow and soft, still delighting in how Gavin kissed back without hesitation. He felt tears forming from affection and relief all at once, and he wrapped Gavin up into a tight embrace. Kent hid his face on Gavin’s shoulder and shut his eyes, taking a deep breath. Gavin’s arms wrapped around him, and he rested his head on Kent’s.

Nestled in such a warm embrace, Kent reminded himself again that it was all real. He murmured against his shirt, “I missed you, Gav.”

“Missed you too, old man.” Gavin whispered, unprecedented affection in the pet name, nuzzling his cheek into Kent’s hair.

There were other things he wanted to say, had wanted to say for so long, but they were no longer a priority. His attempts to speak or write his immediate feelings didn’t matter. Gavin had kissed him, and they were in each other’s arms. That was more than enough.

Going to bed that night, Kent still felt slightly out of his element, this new step in his relationship with Gavin being such uncharted territory. In a repeat from the hotel room in Rustic, he dressed down turned away from Gavin, and the two of them got in at opposite sides of the bed. Gavin turned out the kerosene lamp.

But then Gavin moved over to him, and his chest covered Kent’s side as he rested his cheek on his shoulder. Kent tangled their legs together and felt a warmth blossom in his heart at Gavin’s content sigh.

Kent wrapped his arms around Gavin’s waist and whispered, “I meant to write you a letter.”

“Oh, yeah? What happened to that?” Gavin asked sleepily, relaxing under Kent’s arms.

“Turns out I’m godawful at them.” Kent was already grateful he’d never sent one and that he’d instead resolved to see Gavin again.

Gavin draped his arm over Kent’s chest. “Hm… so’m I. How was Montana, anyway?”

Kent brushed his lips against Gavin’s forehead and murmured, “lonely. Same old.”

“So was Fort Collins.” He stretched up to press a lazy kiss to Kent’s jaw, and rested his head back against his shoulder. “’Night, Kent.”

“’Night, Gav.”

That night, there were no nightmares. But when Kent woke up to the howling wind and the brightness of the moon against the freshly fallen snow, he realized he felt colder, and the fear set in. He recalled the way Gavin had held him, gazed at him, _kissed_ him, and he wondered if it was all somehow a dream. A sick trick his lonesome mind had pulled on him.

But then he glanced around and realized he wasn’t in some hotel room; too many belongings were strewn about in the room amongst a variety of furniture. He was still in Gavin’s home, and despite the pale light, the bed’s rustic, patterned sheets looked the same as they had when he and Gavin had climbed into it… together. He heard steady, quiet snores, and when he looked over, he saw Gavin asleep on his side. His back was turned to Kent, having simply rolled away in his sleep.

He moved over to Gavin and wrapped an arm across his chest protectively as he settled behind him. Gavin hummed and stirred but remained asleep, nestling his back to Kent’s chest. Kent kissed the crook of his neck and rested his cheek against the spot. He fell back asleep, more at peace than he’d been in years.

Just like on their travels, Kent awoke first, the room brightened by the snow and sunlight outside. Gavin was still in his partial embrace, his own hand loosely covering Kent’s.

Normally, he’d be ready to get out of bed. But with Gavin in his arms, so relaxed and safe, he didn’t even consider the thought. Instead, he let his eyes close again, and he nuzzled his face into Gavin’s disheveled hair.

A few minutes later, Gavin stirred awake, and he moved against Kent’s hold. Kent let him go with a pang of disappointment. Gavin yawned and rolled onto his opposite side before he settled close to Kent again.

It charmed him to see Gavin in the early morning, now that he could look at him without the shame for his attraction he’d felt before. His hair was all tousled, strands fell onto his forehead, and he gazed back at Kent sleepily. He looked so content that Kent couldn’t help but be overcome by fondness and a desire to see him like that more often.

Gavin leaned in and kissed him briefly, before he pulled away to gaze at him with unbridled affection. He ran his hand over Kent’s jaw, where the insignificant beginnings of stubble had begun to form. With more watchful eyes, his thumb tracing over Kent’s cheekbone, he proposed, “you should stay here. Live with me.”

Laying in bed with Gavin, the most content and in love he’d ever been, it took no time for Kent to make his decision.

Kent offered a small smile and took Gavin’s hand in his own, bringing it down to his chest and squeezing it as their fingers intertwined. “I will. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the part with that sweet emotional payoff. Hopefully you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Huge thanks to everyone who viewed/bookmarked/commented/left kudos on this story! I really appreciate all that, and this fic gathered a bit more attention than I expected it to, so all that was a really pleasant surprise.
> 
> I have additional one-shots in various stages of editing for this AU which will be posted in this work's series, since I just really can't let this universe go and I wanted to expand on Kent and Gavin's life together after the events of this story.


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